This Twisted Choice
by Ghostly Melody
Summary: What if Christine had said yes? Not because she loved Erik, but because she pitied him and wanted to save Raoul's life.This is about Christine and Erik, and how they cope with their new future together and learn to love. Not one shot. Please R&R ;
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N-**_

_**So, this is my second POTO fanfiction xDD**_

_**I stopped the one I mentioned in my comment on Midnight Abduction. It's if Christine said "yes" during Final Lair. But..not out of love or pity. To simply let Raoul free. It's also about her life with Erik after she says yes. I hope this gets somewhere. Review, please. And enjoy! **_

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter One

Christine's POV.

"..You try my patience- make your choice."

I feel as my heart has just been torn.

At one side, Maestro stands erect, gripping one half of my heart with unwavering, greed-engulfed eyes ablaze and alive with a newfound hunger, demanding. Raoul, lightly holding the other with demeaning hands, trying to convince my mind to make the right choice.

His choice.

I take a few deep breaths, both of which are directed to make me reassured and calm. It only makes matters worse. Instead of screaming out my resistance, shrieking out my disagreement, it takes all of my collected resolve to sing out the following words; softly at first, then rising in gusto.

Perhaps this will change his mind. I have compassion.

I will show him the light.

_"..Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you- you are not alone..!_"

I press my lips to his slightly misshapen- surprisingly full- ones. I even drape my slowing arms about him, showing my embrace expresses pity and nothing but. Our tears fall and mingle as do our lips.

Yet...when I pull back, his eyes have not changed. They are still a question: Which? Who do you choose? Oh, God. What have I done! I haven't changed him. Haven't changed.. I gaze back at Raoul, Ange, Raoul.

The boy who fetched my scarf from the sea is begging me to say "No". Maestro.."Yes".

Raoul will die if I say no. And he will be free if I concede. I know what I must do. It is the only way. My face fully towards Maestro now, I lean up slightly and whisper,"..I..I choose you."

Maestros eyes grow light, his deformed face turning brighter just a hair. He drops the rope. Raoul drops to the water, wrenching and heaving, hands to his throat in feeble attempts at air. My eyes grow pained at the sight of him.

"May I go to him?" I plead.

"You have one minute." That voice..which was formally a comfort, is now a strained horror. Maestro has changed, and there is no doubt. I rush at Raoul and help him to his feet, removing any last ropes with hurried fingers.

"C-Christine.." Raoul's pant shatters my heart, twisting and turning.

"Raoul- sshh. Sshh. It's going to be alright." I brush back damp locks of hair, staring into those same blue orbs.

"Why Christine? Why? You've thrown your life away for me with that..that monster!" He's reached hysteria. I place my palms to his chest, urging Raoul to calm. This vain attempt is unsatisfactory on my part. His eyes are gaged, accusing.

"Christine..!" "Raoul. Stop this. There is no need-"

"Yes there is! It's that monsters selfish desires that hold us apart!"

"Raoul-"

"No, Christine. Don't fret, I will come back for you."

"Rao-" "I love you, Christine."

"..And I love you."

"Christine!" Maestro bellows from the top of the shortened stairs, green hazy eyes sharp now.

I give Raoul a quick kiss and scurry away. The last thing I see of him is his form moving slowly through the now opened gate, shouting his revenge that will not go abandoned.

_**A/N- **_

_**Sorry it's short, guys. Schoolwork is a killer. I'll post more soon. Lyrics (C) ALW**_

_**Happy reading and reviewing! **_

_**Until next time~ :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- **

**PhanforLife- thank you for the review 33 I really appreciate it. Please continue reading.**

**.::PART ONE::.**

Chapter Two

I am lead along, Maestro looming over with an unsaid authority. I am frightened. What will become of me? What have I gotten myself into?

Ange pulls up a red velvet curtain, which reveals a mirror. He shoves it back, and advances. He beckons me, and I obey, following his faint form in the gloom.

I can hear the mob growing closer, and yet Ange is in no hurry to leave. I catch the slight, feeble squeak of mice, and wonder where their exact location is. A foot away? Minutes? A lifetime? This passageway is terrifying- to an extent. I am slightly unnerved by this all. And my frightened actions do not improve these conditions and the situation I'm in.

Yet Maestro's cold grip seems to ameliorate this experience, altering my mood slightly. But..there is a acrimonious behavior towards him now, hanging in the air and condensed space between us. I believe this area among me and Maestro will never be filled. We will always be assertive, uncomfortable, awkward, and quite shifty. I don't think I shall ever learn to trust his bitter, starving soul again.

And I have to at least pretend we're close in some way.

"Not much longer now.." He assures. I nod, and tense, trying my best to succeed at a simple goal of wrenching away. But there is no use.

This tunnel grows lighter as our ascending continues. The narrow walls are pinched at the edges with white light, illuminating part of the passageway and its surroundings. We are soon enough greeted by a set of cold metal bars, tinted with rust. It doesn't enlighten this strangled mood, that they appear screwed shut. But faster than I can blink it seems, Maestro is down to his knees and using his hands. I find that what I thought was a wrong assumption; instead of being tightly concealed, they lack the bolts to do so. Maestro gently took the bar slat aside, and allowed me access. I shimmy through, and he shortly follows, putting the bar slat back in place behind him.

As soon as I hear him stand, I'm off and running, bare feet flying over the cobblestone street. Once or twice, my dress catches on the stone, and I have to unravel it from the greedy fingers of rock and dirt. I can hear him after me. But my powerful dancer's legs work fine here, and I'm fast.

Apparently not enough for a full-grown man. Just as I'm about to round the street, he's caught me. First, I feel his arms around my ribs, then next I trip, tumbling to the hard surface, stomach first.

I flip to my back, bosoms thrust forward somewhat and legs kicking out as I try to escape each time I feel him relax. He straddles across me, and with quick hands, pins my arms to the street.

"**What do- you think you were-doing?**" He inquires sharply between pants.

I reply shakily, chest heaving. I pant as well, "Trying- my hardest- to escape my captor!"

"..Captor? You willingly came with me!"

I bite my tongue, as I am going to admit it was for Raoul. All of it. Instead, I don't reply. We sit in silence for what seems like decades. Maestro at last rises and helps me to my feet, which I find are heavy rather sleepy.

"We'll be there soon, Christine."

"Where?" I ask, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Madame's flat."

**A/N: Homework troubles have struck again. I've had a lot of assignments due this past week and a half. Sorry, to whoever reads and reviews. **

**I'll try to post another chapter within this week.**

**R&R, please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- PhanforLife- Thank you so much for the review! Oh, and yes, Madame is referring to Madame Giry. Just thought I'd change it up a bit :) **

**DannySamLover20- To you as well, I give my many thanks. You're review is very appreciated! :) **

.::Part One::.

Chapter Three

It is within the dead of night when we reach Madame Giry's home. I find it a suitable house; small, pleasant, and livable. We travel briskly up the path winding to her home. Maestro knocks on the door, which is followed by a round of silence. Right when I think we should turn and leave, we hear a clanking and unlatching of that and unlocking of another.

The wooden door opens slowly with a protesting moan. A set of eyes, curious and accusing, blink back at us. It isn't until I step from the shadows and into a broken splint of moonlight does the figure take up a new recognition in their eyes. Madame Giry's lips grow thin as she purses them, and she opens the door wider. The moonlight is shattered, dancing about the yard in a flurry.

I scurry in first and Maestro comes in next, closing the door behind him. Madame Giry waves a hand to her small parlor, and behests me to sit in a tiny gesture. When she's gone with Maestro to converse, I sink soundlessly into the plush chair, opposite the fireplace, and admit the blazing inferno to warm my body. As the flames lick the air and hiss and spit, I listen into the said conversation between the two individuals.

"..What were you thinking, Erik? Christine will not fair with life underground with you; Why did you possibly think could come from taking her?" Madame's words are quiet, and forced.

"She choose me over that boy, Antoinette. It must mean she desires me. I know she wants me. Give it time, and she will show you." Maestro protests.

"Erik.." Madame Giry rebuttals, "You don't know what you're saying-"

"Yes, I do." Maestro is loosing his temper.

Madame Giry stays quiet. Then she replies, "Where do you propose to live?"

"The Opera House, of course. Was it not obvious?"

"Oh, Erik..." Madame Giry trails off, then begins in a renewed mood, "Fine. You have one day to stay here. Then you must go."

When Maestro enters, I sit up almost right away. His face is just barely visible in the trembling firelight. His eyebrows raise, "You heard our conversation, I assume?"

"Yes. All of it, I believe- Erik."

Erik winces at my reply, "Please. Do not address me as such. It is the one my mother gave me, I do not wish for you to use it."

"Whatever for?"

Erik sighs, and ignores my questioning, "Alright. You may use it."

And with that, he's left the room.

I know his reluctant endorsement is supposed to lessen the forceful tension in some odd way, but I find Erik's disinclination irritates me greatly. And whatever was the trouble with his mother?

...

The chilling water flutters as I step through slowly. I peer through the mist, trying my best to see the ongoing scene that unfolds. I hear gasps for breath, small grunts and an evil laugh unevenly ricocheting across rocky walls; cave walls. I seem to part the way for myself, granting access to the current incident. My hand flies to my mouth at what I rest my startled gaze upon.

A figure looms over Raoul, ropes at the ready. I try to scream, but the shriek is halted. Next, the man performs his gruesome task slowly, taking his time. I try to move, to stop him from choking my beloved, but my feet are rooted to the watery floor. The mist disappears all completely, making it quite observable in the tenebrous atmosphere.

Raoul is dead.

Just like that, in a complete flash. The outrage builds, forming at my chest and blooming slowly to my throat, until I cannot keep it contained any longer. I scream loudly, forcefully.

This man will pay. He turns to the sliver of light, revealing himself to me, smiling some. Erik. I hurl myself away in horror and trip, scaling backwards in my attempt to escape.

"Christine?.._Christine!_"

I blink open slowly, bleary eyed and heart racing unnaturally. As soon as I find who is shaking me awake, I give a yelp and scramble back, only to be rewarded with a hard landing on the floor beneath the arm chair.

Erik knits his brows, confusion setting in, "Are you alright, Christine?" He's curious- and skeptic.

"Yes..yes. I'm fine." I swallow hard, "What happened?"

"I woke to you screaming. You must of had a nightmare."

"..You haven't the faintest idea." I whisper, eyes brimming with heated tears. Erik doesn't say anything, just gently helps me to trembling feet. He calms me, or at least attempts. But I stay my distance- after all, he was the man in that dream. I keep my eyes averted from his, and try to calm my panicked interior. It was just a dream.

And yet, it felt so real.

**A/N- as you can see, I don't make my chapters too long. Eh. I don't know why XD Hope it succeeds in not bothering anyone. If it does, please comment. Oh, and are any of you wondering why Meg isn't here? You know how at the end of the movie/play she's with the mob? Well, she still is, still inspecting Erik's "lair". Hope it doesn't or didn't arouse any confusion.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N- **

**DannySamLover20- I love your review! Thanks! :) **

**PhanForLife- He allowed her to use his name in an attempt to make her stop pestering him about his past. Just thought I'd clarify it, sorry if it wasn't clear in the story. Thanks for the review! ;) **

**Oh, and guys, I'm terribly sorry for the late update. Forgive me xDD **

_**NOTE: This chapter might be different, because I'm not using the regular Microsoft Office Word. I'm using OpenOffice xDD I can't access my other computer account. **_

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter Four

The cold gray of dawn slowly makes its way across the window, brightening my face and giving it a new appeal. My face has the appearance of regeneration, yet I feel non of it. I stare blankly at my meager breakfast of lukewarm oatmeal. I lay a hand to my stomach, not feeling "up to par". My heart hammers through my body; my palms grow sweaty with my forehead, and I attempt to hide the perspiration, and I find the task difficult, strenuous to endure.

This situation could be derided at, no doubt. I glance across the table, to where Madame Giry stands, her back to me. I slip a stare to the far end, and come to see Meg and Erik's chairs both empty. What is this distinct, new feeling swimming faintly inside of me? I do not know. I remove my hand from my stomach, and catch a small glimpse of my dress, "borrowed" by Madame Giry. I use the word borrowed lightly, as I fret I will most likely never be able to return the comely gown. I admire the creamy fabric, with gold lace at the very hem. The work is stunning, and I cannot see reason to why she would loan this garment to me. It fits most comfortably, without the need of a corset. I think back to an hour earlier, as I stood around dumbly in my former tattered apparel.

"Christine, you cannot go out in that thing; it's filthy." Madame Giry trilled. Her advancement on me was sudden, and not at all prolonged.

"I know, it's just-" I was cut off as she carried on.

"Come come, I will give one to you that you may borrow."

"Oh, but Madame-"

"Do not worry, I don't mind, Chéri." She whisked me away into a room, where the next half an hour was spent fussing, shushing, and fitting.

As I travel back to present time, I am mentally jolted by the sudden presence of Erik. I swallow hard and keep my eyes away; the nightmare still leaves me frightened. Frustration has one half of me. It's a raging war between mellow emotions and a rip-tide of irritation. In my stress, I find myself with my teeth grinding as I try to conceal my hardened zeal.

Will I ever learn to just push down my fear? Or will I stay a scared simpleton the rest of my life?

...

We depart later that day, near noon I can assume. As we leave the flat, I turn around half way down the path. Erik is in the doorway, back towards me. Curious, I continue up slowly and peer past him, glimpse just enough to see Madame hand him his black, full mask. I face away as he ties the strings with an industrious resolve. I desist my mind from any other thoughts except, _where am I being lead? _

We are twenty minutes into our journey when Erik pauses abruptly, most likely sensing some presence unknown to me. He straightens, muscles clenching and body stiffening. I force myself to look away, and glower at some invisible being. Erik yanks me aside the road we're presently on, and we find ourselves in a tangle of bush and foliage. He peers through the breaks in various branches, eyes trained in an analytical and distressed way. This mixture rubs off alarming to me, and I look over his shoulder to see what is about.

Stringed members of the mob from the Opera House are wandering there on the street, motions wary. Is this what Eirk's frightened about? A rag-tag group of idiots?

I glance over to Erik, and see his body relax as the mob remnants move along down the road, growing farther and farther away. We heighten the distance, moving in the other direction now.

As we head along, we being to pass through and over familiar landmarks. These familiarities adjourn any displeasure or disorientation. The certainty of the Opera House in my future settles my nerves and arouses a new sense of calm, to flow freely across my being.

I can tell Erik is relaxing somewhat as well, by the way he moves across the gravel. The trees and lush grass soon form and bend in proportions, turning to towering brick buildings and small sidewalk cafes. We reach the same barred grate, and he allows me entrance. He closes it with a gentle push when we're inside the establishment, and we make our way down the unfortunately familiar passageway.

Back to the lair.

...

What we come upon next is so shocking and untrue I can't keep myself from covering my eyes and running away back down the tunnel. Surely, that would greater in conditions than the ones laid before my glazed eyes.

Strewn music sheets and knocked over stands are at the minimal damage status. The organ's keys are alive with clutters of papers; the red velvet rugs tattered and shred- no doubt the work of multiple mob members. I take a moment to look in the smashed mirrors, watching my warped reflection grow hideous as the chipped fragments distort the image. The thing that troubles me most is his bedchamber. As I step inside, I regret it with every second. The Phoenix bed, which use to hold such grace and dignity, is everything but those words. The monkey with the crashing symbols and light tune is the only things that stays intact in this lair. Erik stands behind me, and I urge him not to cry with my eyes. My silent plea seems to work. Instead of breaking down, he utters softly:

"Come. We have work to do."

**A/N- Sorry it's not as detailed as it could (and should) be. I'm really tired, guys. My apologizes. I'll try my best to step it up a bit in the next chapter. Look forward to story-telling and a bit of loosening up ;D Have any questions you wish to ask concerning this chapter? Feel free to review! Don't worry, I won't Punjab you. Speaking of reviews, please do! Until next time, dear readers.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- PhanforLife- Thank you for the review! And I sent you a message, by the way :)**

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter Five

We work cleaning the lair, and soon enough it gets done. I'm finishing up the last bit of paper collecting, when I become curious. My ambitions grow as I flip through the sheet music; nervousness and excitement swell up inside my chest, blending slowly with my eager half. The notes are laid out perfectly across the papers. It's the the right size for this piece as well, and from what I can read it flows nicely. The only odd thing is it lacks a title. Is this purposely? Or did Erik just refuse to conjure one up? I smooth the folds in the pages and turn around, expecting no barrier to be visible. Instead, its the looming form of Erik.

"What are you _doing_?" He demands. It's not in a forceful tone, the one I'm used to. This time his voice is mutual as well as leery.

I raise my eyes and look up at him from underneath my long, dark eyelashes, "I saw this music laying here, and I looked through it."

"Why?" His eyebrows go upwards towards the cave-like roof.

"You _can't _expect me to shield myself away from_** everything**_, now can you?" I am surprised by the harsh venom in my voice. Although only slight, it is visible and easily detected. Erik doesn't respond to my small out bursting counter. When I try to move, he grabs my wrist and squeezes,

"May I have the music, Christine?"

I try to move a second time, but his grip his hard and my determination crumbles. I slowly pass him the layers of paper, and he accepts them with no hesitation. As soon as he's walking back towards his bedchamber, I'm off and trailing behind.

"It is very pretty." I praise, standing halfway in the threshold. I cannot even muster how much the piece touches me. And I'm positive it would sound all the more thrilling if he would allow me to hear him play.

"You think?" Erik queries. I see him force away a blush that rises to his face.

"Yes. Yes I do." I step forward more, arms behind my back, interlocked, "Do you mind answering a question? I don't wish to pester.."

"Go ahead." Erik replies, his back now the only character I can exchange conversation with.

"Will you play it for me?"

At this, I see him stiffen, implying his dissatisfaction with my inquiry, "..Perhaps..some other time."

"Why not now?" I plead.

"I said no, Christine."

"But-"

"It is a no. And that is final." I flinch; I hear a heavy sigh emanate from his lips.

"I am sorry, Christine.''

"It's quite alright." I murmur. For a brief second, our eyes meet. My breath catches as he lays a hand upon my cheek and his face lowers some, entailing my heart to quiver and race. I finally get a real look into his eyes: smokey green, with occasional hints of piercing blue. It seems an odd combination, and yet it makes him all the more dark and ghostly. My left hand flies up-slowly- and it snakes it's way across his face. For the smallest moment, I am obedient. Until I refuse to hold it back no longer. My fingers find the edge of his mask, and my tips curl around the surface and underneath, grazing the smooth material. I have no time to think; only react. I whip away his mask and brace myself for the damage to come.

Erik gasps as the mask clatters to the floor. I race to pick it up and hug it to my chest. I did not expect myself to get even this far.

"Now you are available to answer some other questions I have."

"**Excuse me?**" He roars. Erik grabs for me, for the mask. I turn round sharply and exit the chamber, pouring down the narrow steps until I'm face to face with the water.

My arm goes out, and the black mask dangles over the edge. "You will answer my questions, or the mask will be submerged."

"_Christine.._"

I loosen my hold, and it drops some two inches towards the lake.

"Alright! What is it you wish to know?"

"Multiple things, but for starters, I'd like to know about your past."

"Pertaining to which aspect..?" Erik is panicked now. And I have no clue why.

"Your family."

Erik swallows hard, closes his eyes. After a brief exhale, he subjects to me. He motions, and I follow him back into his chamber. I'm almost giddy, and I have to keep myself from increasing my pace any further. Before he has a chance to question, I say, "All of it. I would like to know all."

Erik gives another long sigh and sits down; after I've followed suit, he begins.

"..I grew up in a..not so loving household in a not so lovely part of France. Due to my face, my family refused most contact with me. The only member who seemed to not be disgusted by my horrid appearance was the dog, Anouar. Over the two years of our shortened friendship, we bonded and did everything together imaginable. Unfortunately, he was an old mutt, and eventually passed on. My only joy was at last taken away.

"My sibling and parents grew more and more revolted by my distortion. By age six, I was given a small burlap sack to adorn my face, rather than the poorly constructed veil I was given since the day of my birth. It better concealed the disgusting abomination underneath than the see-through veil. Within the first few months of the newly obtained clothing, my mother decided she could not stand me any longer. Late one night, she took me atop our only horse and road off.

''There was a traveling circus in town, looking for new acts to add to their shows. She deposited me there, receiving a great sum of money for me, which thrilled her. My mother took off without a word to me, leaving myself in the flaps of the tent with a burly man to hang over my small body. There, I spent the next two years being tortured for the civilians entertainment. Until Madame Giry rescued me and brought me here to the Opera Populaire it was there I spent so many days of my life, being ridiculed and looked down upon."

My mouth agape, I let the tears flow. "So..that is the reason you wished for me not to use your name?" Erik nods slowly.

I reach up slowly, my hand trembling, and he grabs the mask, placing it on hesitantly. "Thank you..for sharing."

When Erik doesn't say a thing, I feel my heart break._ God, _this_ is the life he was faced with?_ I had no idea. I am going to make it up to him somehow. Although, I doubt it will atone for the loss of light and fragmented darkness he has faced.

I rest my hand to his shoulder, and reach over. My head tilting to the right, I place a featherlight kiss to his lips, feeling a mixture of shame and regret surge through my limbs, inching to my core. My lips melting with his, our tears equally balanced, I feel a new emotion swim up through me. I shouldn't of made him. It was blackmail. His hand finds my neck, and he pulls me in closer with some intimidation- yet the kiss deepens.

There, we share our sorrows.

And I attempt to compensation for what I've done.

**A/N- Hows that for bonding? xD lol. Hope this chapter was satisfactory. And whoa- two chapters in one day? It's a record for me. Review please! Oh, and if any of you can look up the dogs name, "Anouar", and tell me the meaning, I'll be grateful. I know it, of course. I just want to see if any of you might know it :))**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N- **

**Hey, guys. What's new? So, I thought I'd change my story up a bit. In this chapter, it'll be in Raoul's POV. Sorry if it kills you all xDD just flee the area and skip this horrid chapter. **

**And, if you have any ideas on what should happen with Erik and Christine, please comment! Things are going to start loosening up with them- enough stiffness. Your ideas are much appreciated ;) **

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter Six

Raoul's POV (unfortunately)...

The narrow fractured strip of light that shines through the glass window is dull, and gives off little-to-no guidance in this darkest hour. I stand from my ragged position on the settee, and in an irritable manner, jam the two thick velvet curtains together in a seething haste. I whip around, hair flying. My blood-shot eyes dart across the room, ridiculing and hardly inquisitive.

I spot my brandy on the small wooden table. I lunge greedily for the drink, and take a few flurried gulps. I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and slam the container back on the counter, sneering. I grumble as I move, and advance towards the window. A light rain has started to drizzle; I watch the occasional drops flit and smack against the glass, desperate to get inside my library. I would have been able to share this library with Christine.

_If it wasn't for him_.

In my newly found rage, I begin my stamped. I turn on the balls of my feet and dart my arm out. The back of my hand makes hard contact with the glass of brandy, it flies to the floor, and shatters. My eyes are unwavering. I continue to stare at the mess until I realize it has to be cleaned up sometime. I slowly make my way to the door, and yell at the top of my lungs, "_**Daisy!**_"

After a few moments, the tiny maid scuttles in; a timid look registers on her face. "Yes, monsieur? You called?"

I almost chuckle at the pathetic excuse for a girl. Her shortened, light blonde hair pulled messily up in a bun behind her head, all accounted with her light blue eyes and round cheeks. I stare at her dirt-enveloped face and finally down to her simple maid dress. I bark out, "Get to work."

It makes her jump, and I have to keep myself from a laughing fit. When Daisy's left the room, I get down to business. If I'm to ever have Christine safely back into my arms, there are matters I need to attend to. I will call Madame Giry over, to pry much needed information out of the old woman. She even admitted herself her past relations with the monster. I sit back in my chair, and send for Daisy once more. Once she has reached the threshold, I tell her this:

"Send for Madame Giry, the former ballet mistress of the Opera House. There is some business in which I need to attend."

...

"I am telling you, Monsieur. That is all I know." Madame Giry's hard face and pursed lips tell me otherwise.

After many minutes of information-seeking, _**this**_ is what am I left with?

"Madame, you and I both know there is more than your giving away. Is my assumption correct?" I raise my eyebrow, prompting her for a reply.

"..No." She whispers.

"When was the last time you saw the Phantom?"

"It was..long ago-" Madame's hesitancy indicates her false words.

"You lie." I'm on the verge of snapping at this frustration. Why must she impede?

"I do not." Her chin is raised in her defiance.

I grind my teeth together and, slowly, rise from my seat behind my desk. "I've had quite enough of your lies. You will not deceive me. Now, when was the last time you saw him?"

She does not answer.

"Madame Giry! Would you answer me?"

"I have to leave, monsieur. I am sorry-" As she goes to rise from the uncomfortable chair, I catch her arm in a deathly grip.

"No more stalling, Madame. You will tell me, or so help me I will find a way to get the information from you, whether it be easy or hard. Please, when was the last time you saw The Phantom of the Opera?"

"..The night of the fire."

A satisfied smirk lights my face. I wave her away.

"Thank you. You may leave."

**A/N- oh, what could Raoul be planning? Sorry for my semi-cliffy. Don't worry, there will be more exciting stuff next chapter. Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N-**

**I guess I'm going to rewrite this chapter since my reviewers want something a bit more edgy -cough- Phanforlife -cough- Nah, it's okay. I'm just teasing. **

**PhanforLife- alright, but can you try to give me an idea/ reason for their newfound "edginess"? And yes, I know what you mean. Most people make the two act all "Lovey Dovey, guess what there's no tension between us even given our clenched history together" Etc, etc. Thanks for the review **

**Queen of Drama- Welcome aboard! -shot- thanks for the review, and the name meaning. You're the best! ;) I really look forward to more reviews from you in the future ^^ **

**DannySamLover20- thank you, your reviews are cherished! :) **

**Okay, so, this one's going to be in Meg's perspective. She's traveling with the mob after a crushing defeat of not being able to locate Erik and Christine. Raoul will get involved in this. :) ****Oh, and do you guys think I should make Christine suffer from hypothermia?**** I've already written the chapter for it last night, and was going to upload it. Since PhanforLife wants tension, I won't. Later on in the story, do you think she should? Thanks again guys!**

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter Seven

The crisp morning air gives off little aid to resist against the frigid chill. I sit, huddling, atop a make-shift seat. The rock is completely uncomfortable against my skin; I shift position several times before taking to the moistened earth below. Here, we sit in these freezing conditions miles from the Populaire, all ten of us. We await instructions and actions of our next further move to catch the Opera Ghost.

"How in the hell could we let that confounded monster from our grasp? He and that worthless rat of a girl are too slick for us to catch!"

I glance up as I hear the booming, enraged voice of one of our mob members, Sam. He's a diminutive man with short auburn hair atop his head; he's perhaps in his early twenties, late teen years. Not much older than I. He is a former stagehand of the Opera, not one to be seen onstage, but off.

"Do not speak of Christine in such a way." I spit softly. My anger rises from my toes and flows uneasily up my limbs and torso, until its bubbling over and out past my freezing lips.

"Oh, you mean that monsters lover?" Sam retorts, blue eyes chips of eyes. He did not very well fancy my words, I can see. I'm about to say something when Rita, a fellow ballet dancer, flashes me a warning look. It tells me not to revoke. I shift in my body closer to her, and still give Sam my agitated stare.

"What we need is to work out a plan." Sam continues. This has everyone in. "But we need the money, equipment, and thorough arrangement to capture them both. We are not rich; we do not have the time

or space to perform the required tasks." Sam's voice grows tired, and he slumps down on a log.

There is a long pause. We can only hear the occasional rustle of leaf beneath another's foot or the crack of a twig in the far-off distance. The silence is making everyone edgy. Uneasy. I look around, and see the same thought on everyone's face: Kill the Phantom. We _will _have revenge.

Before I even know what I'm saying, it's out of my mouth, "I know someone that can supply us." I want that ghost gone as much as anyone else here.

"Whom are you speaking of?" Sam asks, suspicion firing his gaze.

"The Vicomte." I raise my chin high as I hear nervous and enthralled gasps ripple through the gang. Heads pop up, wary and excited all at once.

"Do you have close relations with him?"

"Christine does, and she is my closest friend. I'm sure he'll help." I reply to Sam. "I can even make the trip to him, if you'd prefer."

Sam raises an eyebrow, but there are no objections forthcoming. "I suppose.."

I grin. "Thank you, Sam. I will not let you down."

...

The journey to the Victome's mansion is strenuous, and not in my favor. I reach the broad door, and knock timidly. As few knocks later, I'm greeted with a dirt-stain faced maid, huffing and puffing with might, perhaps after a hard task.

"May I speak to the Vicomte?" I ask.

"Is he expecting you?" Her brows furrow.

"No..but. I'm sure if you tell him Meg Giry has come.." I trail off, running on the edge. I'm growing hopeless.

The small maid sighs, "I'll go and see if he is available." I thank her as she bustles off.

Soon, I am admitted entrance. My heart pounds and my stomach churns, flitting like a frantic butterfly. The maid leads me up a grand staircase, and I am slow in following behind. I admire the vast, golden stairs and the intricate designs carved into the matter. I am..in awe. For a moment, I am jealous of Christine. If Raoul excepts the plan, and all goes well, Christine will have this to look forward to!

I am snapped out of my envious state as we pass through a narrow hallway. The maid stops at a door, and opens it. I step inside, only to hear the faint click of it behind me.

My nervousness builds with each step I take, and I try to hold it back. I glance around the room. It's a dark place, filed with thick books lengthy with information. It must be the library. I come to a desk, and find the chair behind it is turned so I cannot see the person occupying the seat. I give a small cough and it whirls lazily about, counter clockwise. I am now no more than three feet away from the Vicomte.

"Well, what is it? What do you want?" Raoul snaps. His normally blue eyes are blood-red, half way closed.

"Well, I..er- I.."

"Out with it, girl!"

I swallow my fear, take a cleansing breath, and step an inch closer. As if daring him to object, I boldly rest my hands upon the edge of the counter for unneeded support. I open my mouth, and find it dry. My voice rings out, tweaked soft at this moment:

"..I have a proposition for you."

**A/N-**

**Oh, snap! What could this mean for Meg and the mob? Hope the chapter wasn't too short. Please review!**

**And sorry about the big Author's Note at the beginning, guys xD I had a lot to squeeze in. **


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N- **

**Hey, guys. SO sorry it's been a late update. I've been extremely busy.**

**Life has been killing me. **

**PhanforLife, Hmm..yes. I like your thinking, and I'll try to merge that into the story. **

**Dark Angel Phantom, Why thank you! That's such a sweet comment. Thanks again, I look forward to more reviews from you! I'll try to see what I can do about the hyperthermia **

**Irelandsavage, I'll try to work on the chapter lengths. Thanks for the review! **

**Past-the-point-of-no-return, Ooh, thank you :) **

**Jasper Blood, No one has ever said something so kind to me. Thank you so much ;) **

**DannySamLover20, I'll try, Lol xD **

**WOAH. A lot of reviewers. Thanks guys! Your what keep me going.**

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter eight

(Raoul's POV; sadly)

"A proposition, you say?" Although I have a keen skepticism, eagerness could easily be noted of in my tone of voice. Meg gives an almost hasty nod.

"Yes, monsieur."

"Exactly..how am I to be involved?"

Meg rakes through her words with instantalacrity. Her small, fiery ambition is what keeps me locked on.

"So, monsieur. In order to capture the Phantom and have Christine safely returned to you, we'd need your funds-"

"My _funds?_" I roar.

This sends the girl backwards, but not to an extent where I am able to see her invisible fear, bottled within her small body. "Y-yes." She stumbles over the words as if a visioned man would along a dark passageway.

I am not smug in her terror and high-strung standpoint. It is aggravation and irritation that chews at my mind.

I let a sigh escape past my lips, and bury my face within the fleshy protection of my hands, "Miss Giry, do you mind informing me of how much you and your..group expect in payment?"

"We just need the guns, space to operate, time, and proper transportation to make this all possible."

_Just? _How _dare _she use that word in a list so significant?

I allow one finally moment to pace this, then rub my reddened eyes.

Miss Giry pipes up once more, "Please, monsieur. It would be doing you good as well. You could have revenge, Christine safely back home."

I hadn't thought about my revenge. Of course, the drink has numbed feelings from entering or leaving my body, so I was unable to feel any emotions regarding that matter. I snap my attention furthermore back to

the former ballerina, current mob member.

"Miss Giry..you have got yourself..a deal."

I reach my hand across the table and she grasps it with little strength, for she is most likely unsure. We shake hands, and it is sealed.

...

As soon as possible, we are down the staircase and heading out onto the lawn. My carriage awaits at the end of the drive, and I allow Meg Giry access to the device before stepping inside myself. I ask Meg where the mob could be located, and she replies hesitantly:

"We are not suited in an exact address. Perhaps if we were to drive on, I would be able to spot the group."

I consent her to do this.

I stare out the window, attempting to find some buried information lodged deep within the catacombs of my mind. So far, the Girys have given me a plethora of knowledge regarding the mighty opera ghost.

Where could the devil be? Hidden away in some damp, dark area only he would know the whereabouts of?

I shake my head to show this method of mind searching has proved inefficient, and give a hard flutter of my eyes to further clear the fog.

**A/N-**

**Gee, guys. I really am sorry about the late update. I hope all of you have not forgot about me or my story. Thank you so much for sticking with me. I'll try to make the next chapter longer and more exciting. Although, to tie a bit of loose ends, it will be in Meg's perspective for at least some of it. (Or so I plan, lol xD) Anyways, PLEASE R&R! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N- **

**So, here's some semi-fluff, mostly viciousness xD lol **

**Thank you all for your reviews :) **

**PhanforLife, Thanks for the review. I too am excited. :) Oh, and I hope I was "up to standards" as far as tension goes. **

**QueenofDrama13, You always write memorable reviews. Thank you so much. C: **

**Past-the-point-of-no-return, woops! Looks like you posted twice. But it's alright. I don't mind, lol. Thank you ;D **

**DannySamLover20, lol, nice to know xDD **

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter nine

(Christine's POV)

Erik's eyes are wide with unequivocal astonishment, and I lean in once more, and allow our kiss to linger. He moves away with undisguised reluctance. My hand comes to the back of his head, and I untie the mask using one hand within the walls of apprehensiveness. His face is distinguished with unguarded shock. Although it is seems to make it exacerbate, he attempts disregard, and it is carried out successfully.

"Christine.." He says, and it is clearer than day that he would prefer to change matters. "You have asked me to tell you my story; and I have. It is your turn."

I choke down my surprise at his request and open my mouth with salient uncertainty. "Erik, I do not-"

"What? Mademoiselle, Do you not take pleasure in this.._horribly _painful task of sharing with me your story?" He growls, "I, for one, would love to hear. I had to take part in this gruesome burden. Please, start."

"And if I do not?"

"You're just going to have to find out for yourself. And I can tell you, _amour_, the outcome would **not** be pleasant."

Under his ice-induced glare, I make no further waver, and leap into the so-called "burden".

"What would you like to know?" I echo his previous query.

For some time, he does not reply. I fear I have bored him to death or asked him a painful question. When I am at last on my wits end, he answers with showing confidence. "You, and your former relations with the boy. For example, I would like to know how you met."

He's doing it to torture me, I know. _Had that kiss meant _**nothing**_?_

Yet, upon his request, I give a wearied sigh and begin. "It was long ago. I can only recall the account briefly, for I was young. Raoul's family was taking a vacation in France, whereas me and my father, we were staying there. I was down by the sea, looking over the waters. I was a curious thing at that age; I still am a bit nosy still-"

Erik lets out a small, viperous laugh, "Do you not mean '_greatly_ nosy', Christine?"

I stare at him with my gaze fixed a bitter glower. I try my best to undertake that snob confidence and easy wits. But all attempts prove useless. "May I continue?"

"Oh, yes! Go ahead. I shan't keep you further delayed."

I take a deep breath, which Meg always used to say would "clean the soul, rid it of it's bad thoughts", and take off:

"I had not realized my scarf had come undone. It was a pretty one, that I fondly adored. That wrap served useful countless times. Whether shielding the roughness of the world, or allowing a soft protection to my outlook.

"As the scarf blew through my fingers and was carried out to sea, so was my cry of distress. Raoul must of heard it, for he was in the waters faster than I could dare blink. I don't know exactly where he came from; only knew he was there..." I trail off and try to stop tears. Just talking about Raoul makes my heart ache, my spirits plummet. I look down, and bite my lower lip. I cannot cry. Not in front of Erik. _Oh, but I miss Raoul so terribly.. _

I swallow a lump that rises assertively in the back of my throat, and talk once more, hiding the tears as I do so. My head is raised, and I hope not the slightest trace of anxiety is forthcoming. "He swam back to shore, drenched scarf in hand. We exchanged polite small talk and he returned my scarf. 'Thank you for rescuing it.' I said. Raoul simply smiled and said it was not a problem at all. To return my gratitude, I invited him for supper. My father at first inclined. Then he slowly allowed Raoul to visit. Our tiny acquaintance bloomed to a dear friendship."

"Thank you, Christine." Erik murmurs softly. His eyes are hazy, misty to hide some unknown emotion. I nod, and we sit in silence for some time.

"..Have you still feelings for the boy?" Erik asks.

I don't answer him, and I just plant my eyes on some far-off, nonexistent being. He must call out my names several times for me to acknowledge him.

"Christine..? Please, don't tell me you.." Erik's eyes light with a strangled fire, the icy flames glowing so bright that only he has the power and passion to produce. I shrink back as his jaw clenches and his muscles grow noticeably ridged.

"Do you? Wait- don't reply to that foolish question. I am fully aware of your answer." He hisses.

I blink rapidly, and stand after he does. I have the urge to take my hands in his, and reassure. But that would just prove hopeless.

On this path, Eirk has proved to be uncontrollable, hostile, and physical. I can just imagine his hand rising for the blow. But it doesn't come, of course. It is just horrid imagination.

"_Erik_-"

"It's my abhorrent face, is it not?"

"Have I not already told you-?" I begin through grinding teeth.

"You have. And now I know who you truly do love. I wasn't so sure the night of the fire. Well now I do. I am going to make sure it doesn't stay that way."

Slowly, he takes my hand in his glove-clad ones and unfurls my fingers. Something cold and small is placed into my palm, and I look down with furrowed brows.

A ring.

Not the one Raoul gave me, but an entirely different one.

I start feebly, "Where did you..?"

"You don't need to know." Erik growls. He closes my hand around the dazzling diamond, and exits.

I stare at the ring, and thoughts form in the foggy, tormented mind of Christine Daae.

To Erik, Raoul is now banished from my life. And I am forever belonging to the Phantom of the Opera. I'm left bewildered, and slumping down on the animal fur rug beneath my feet, begin to cry.

And I haven't an idea why I am.

Whether Erik is the cause for this displeasure, I am unsure. Sobbing, I curl into a ball on my side and close my eyes slowly, allowing the tears to trail and stain the floor.

**A/N- **

**What do you think of that? **

**Eh, I know, Christine can't technically "belong" to Erik unless they, like.."do it" o_e To me, anyways. **

**I don't think a simple exchange of a new ring can bind them forever. Although, Christine must, lol xD **

**Please R&R! **

**Oh, and hope you liked this one :)I think it's a bit lengthy. Tell me if you think the size is good for this chapter :D I worked very hard on it. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N- **

**Jasper Blood, you know how I said I wouldn't get it up? Well..I did! Yay :) Please enjoy! I got this one done in time before I leave just for you. **

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter ten

(Christine's POV)

When I awake, my head is pounding to the beat of my heart. I blink my eyes open slowly, and permit the trickle of light that pours through the bedchamber to engulf and tranquil my senses. It is a white slash across my face, warm and inviting. Yet when I move away, the light is admitted only briefly, and the rest of the world turns gray and bitter.

And I am left with nothing.

I sit and run my fingers through my wild hair, taming the savage brown locks. I tamper within the depths of my brain, and recount the horrors of the night before.

The story. The anger. The ring. The tears.

They all flood in slowly from the corners of my eyes, and overtake my vision. I'm drowning in the sounds, the exchanges, everything. I come back out of the water of memories with a small gasp, clutching the ends of my dress. I squeeze my eyes to a sharpened close, and purse my lips as I float back to subtle humanity.

I twirl the ring round and round on my finger, creating a pink ring around the skin. The fine cut diamond grazes my other digit, and scarlet blood is lightly drawn. I stare down at the thin line of red, studying to pass the time.

It is when I see the note out of the corner of my eye do I glance up.

Slowly, I reach for the worn piece of paper and smooth the writing with hesitate hands. I peer down at the careful, intricate swoops of the penmanship, and read.

_"Christine, _

_I've left to go investigate the rubble of the fire. You do not know these passages well. Do not follow, or the consequences could be callous. ~Erik" _

I suck in a sharp breath and fold the paper in two, then turning it so the sides are face down. I tear at the paper, ripping it into pieces to deposit. I stand, walk calmly from the room, and scatter the pieces into the lake.

As soon as the paper fragments are all completely underwater, it is then I turn abruptly on my heel and snag a candle in its holder. Shoulders back, chin held a bit higher than on a norm, I begin march up a desultory passageway after Erik. ...

Erik was correct when he noted in the letter I do not know these catacombs very well.

Here, I stumble along with the flickering source of light in my clutched fist, trying my hardest to locate him. These hallways are ominous, dank, and not at all how I had imagined them on my first visit to the lair so many months previous. They were formally golden, shimmering, and beckoning. Now, they are nothing but terrifying, rat-ridden, and chilling. I glance down at my candle, and notice the wax is very low.

The wick is almost submerged into the substance. I continue now at an almost frantic pace, my current gait becoming increasingly quick. I steal a glance behind me, and hear the soft crunch of boots over cracked stone. The wick serves no further purpose. The flame sputters and dies with a thin trail of smoke, leaving me in the gloom.

My eyes are plunged into darkness just as a hand grabs my wrist and an arm slithers around my waist.

The outcome of this assault is not very becoming on their half. I let out a cry, and lead my wrist up to my mouth. I sink my teeth into the skin, and find an outer coating to it; a glove.

I release my grip, and the supposed attacked lets me free as well. Although, not for long. Erik spins me around, and I am met with a face that is a mask of fury. Or, at least the lower-half is twisted into a scowl. I see, as he lights a match, that he has placed his mask over himself, and adorned the wig.

I am about to question, by my conscience directs me to a steadier path: silence. "What do you think you're doing?" Erik bellows. His voice echoes strangely around the narrow walls.

I don't speak; just stare down at his waistcoat.

Erik catches my chin in his hand and forces my head upwards towards his own face. I try to redeem any sort of former pride, but find my soul barren.

"Answer me! _Christine!_ **What were you thinking?**"

"I..I don't know." I shake my head, try to draw away. His grip is unrelenting.

"You could of gotten yourself killed, with all these traps down here!" Erik's stern tone backs away and lightens as he sees the expression laid upon my face.

He gently lets me go, and I back away, rubbing my jaw where he was clinging to.

"My apologizes." He mutters, head ducked.

"There is no need." I murmur.

I lay a shaking hand on his shoulder, and he does not flinch away. "Come, Christine. Since you are present, there is no need for you to return back to the lair."

I am slightly giddy, and I trail behind Erik, gripping his coat, occasionally brushing lightly against the tails of it to reassure myself I am not alone. That someone else besides myself exists. As we walk further, the paths become more distinct. This is the path we went along that lead to the lair.

We're heading back to the dressing-room.

Something surfaces, cold and dark in my core. I am afflicted somehow- how has the fire morphed the room?

Will it stand beautiful, or lay in a charred heap?

Erik pushes back the mirror, which no longer serves a purpose, and gains access.

My reaction is one of indignation when I set eyes upon the room: Everything is laying in a scorched heap from an intentional fiery inferno.

The gray mass of distant belongings blow my mind. I run my fingers along the singed items, indirectly to picking up remote memories of months past.

Here, I stood, looking at the mirror. The mist formed. The world fell away for one single moment, and my soul had taken wing to a strange new place.

I float silently over to the table, Erik's eyes forever pouring into me. I cannot escape his gaze. And never will. I handle a silver brush, and finger the melted material.

"I think we've spent more than enough time here." Erik grumbles.

"Can't we-"

"No- come, Christine. We still have much to see."

At his command, I drop the brush and follow after.

...

"What are we here for?" I question.

The location seems vaguely familiar, but with all of the smoke stains and fire remnants, I cannot tell. The conditions are unseemly.

"I've told you; I'm scouring the rubble to see what I can find. Is that answer not up to standards?" Erik demands irritably.

I find his exasperation most unpleasant. I try to dispose of his vexations. When he is facing towards me, I quickly fold over into my mask of innocence, "I'm quite sorry, Erik. Please accept my dearest apologizes."

My false remorse seems to better his mood. Erik sighs heavily and turns away with a blank face, no longer wearing one of animosity.

I form a mental note: _Apologetic attitudes gain slight guilt and change of mind._

Erik pulls away the tattered curtain, and I step away just before my mouth flies open to express my astonishment.

The stage, one formally a work of masterful beauty, is all around something to be looked upon with disgust and disbelief. The floors, one so intricate and clear, are sooted gray.

I bring my eyes up, to reveal the golden carvings all along the walls and ceiling. They are hideous, half hidden in a shameful shadow. I force myself to look away, and round on Erik.

"You did this! All of it! If it wasn't for you, the Opera House wouldn't be in these conditions!"

"What are you-?" He's about to continue.

But never gets the chance.

There's the sound of cracking wood, and we simultaneously steal a glance heavenwards. I don't even have the change to cry out before Erik's pushing me away and he's under the rubble.

**A/N- I won't get a chance to update until probably the 16th or after. **

**Left ya with a cliffe.**

**Mwahahaha! :D**

**Hey, how's my fanfic size? Is it alright? xDD **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N- **

**Man. I'm angry with this iPod. It makes changes to my words when I don't even need them. **

**Sorry if the last chapter made little to no sense. **

**And..wow -whistles- I'm gone for two days and get EIGHT reviews? **

**Omigosh. I'm so happy! :) **

**thank you! Oh, I'm sorry for the cliffie. I'm a jerk. **

_**A little viper**_** ;D **

**To ALL of you who have reviewed, thank you guys SO, SO much for the reviews. You don't know how much they mean to me. I was just expecting three or four. But the ample amount I have received..it's mind-blowing. Thank you :) And to torture you all even more, I'm going to have the next chapter in a different area of Paris. **

**It's in Meg's POV, so it shouldn't be THAT bad. Hehe. We're going back to the mob, so this one won't be too long. **

**Oh, and yes. It's almost time for "part two". **

**Be prepared. I..guess xD**

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter Eleven (Meg's POV)

The sunrise upon the sloping horizon-line is a gradation of gold, orange and pink. The lone, desolate land gives off little sign of life, all except for the small group huddled at the line of pine trees, drowning in their own self pity and remorse.

As soon as we pull up towards the pitiful rank, the Vicomte is up like a rabbit beside me. I step from the carriage, and find he follows suit.

With one hand raised in a quick wave, I call out blithely, "_Bonjour, mon amis_!"

My voice resounds strongly around the air, bouncing more confidently than before. Sam is there before me almost instantly, his features distorted to give away his disbelief and veiled awe. It is an occasion, a slim-chanced one at that to see him unresponsive.

I look past him, and take in the rest of the lot. Several water-logged torches drop instantaneously, and all as one.

For the first time, I am superior.

Sam's shifting eyes hold vacancy. I smirk and pipe up, hissing, "Didn't think I'd get him, did you?"

Raoul staggers over slowly, suspicious. The remainders form a ragged half-circle around the Victome. He clears his throat. "Gentlemen, ladies.." He stops as he scans the horrible excuse for a mob. "I have agreed with Miss Giry, and I am going to fund your..hunt for the Opera Ghost." He allowed the cheers to simmer before picking up his words once again, "But there are some rules I'd like to lay down. Don't fret. There are only three."

At once, Sam stares daggers at me. He's not one to live by restrictions. "Secondly, there is no backing down once this proceeds. If you're too of a coward, please step down now." One person steps away and begins to shift around. Raoul stiffens, so does Sam. Yet Raoul holds his ground and continues, "And lastly, _**I**_ am to kill the Opera Ghost. When we do find him, I will pull the trigger or swipe the sword. No exceptions. Now..does any of you have any concerns?"

Not a soul speaks.

"Good." Raoul smiles, but there isn't a trace of warmth.

...

At dusk, Sam catches me alone. The solitude irritates me, and I scowl as he directs me over.

"Meg..I wasn't aware of the persuasion you possessed. However did you manage to convince the Vicomte to fund us?"

I blink slowly, batting my eyelashes melodramatically. "Charm..wits.." I pause and stare him straight in the face, my eyes pouring into him. "_Beauty_." I give a small giggle at my response.

I glance up and notice Sam is not joining in on the laughter. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, Meg. Not at all. It's just.." Sam looks me over, and sighs greatly, the force of the exhale blowing my blond hair back slightly.

I press up against the tree his invisible force pins me against. My eyes slide ever so slightly to the right, and I can barely catch a flash of gray from the thick foliage. Whispers of fear harden against my stomach and gets trapped in my throat, staying lodged. My breath catches quickly in my throat, and I tighten my grip on the bark, seeming to squeeze the life out of it.

"Sam..'' I choke out, my eyes forever glued to the flash of fur. "Sam.."

"Meg? What is it?" He demands. Sam's voice grows farther away, and I'm falling. Sailing away as new fear begins. All air leaves my body and my moist tongue at an unhurried pace, which tortures my body all the more.

The wolves are out before I have the chance to run. They circle us, their eyes desperate and full of unceasing starvation. Their gaunt, hollowed bodies give a whole new perspective to my desperation. I clutch Sam's shirt, feel his muscles contract, and his body develops to a hard rigidness.

The gray wolf is the first to advance upon us, its snapping jaws threatening to rip us apart at any given second. This is where the wolf thrives, in this mad-driven state.

..And this is where we die.

The wolf snaps its jaws and reveals to us menacing teeth, pointed razors coated with scarlet, designed to kill. The anticipation is murdering me inside_. Why won't it attack? Why doesn't it just kill us already?_

It steps forward so its shrouded in shadows. I cannot see it clearly anymore. The image is blurry, difficult to obtain. It lets out a sharp bark-like sound, and the other wolves slowly creep forward, but not so they have a single paw drenched in darkness. They are the ones who stay cloaked in the scarce, forbidden light.

"Meg, **go**." Same hisses, eyes narrowing at the beast.

"No, I won't leave you, Sam!"

"Just go already! _Go!_" Sam shoves me away, bids me to run, and the wolf decides to leap at that same moment.

A shot rings out, and the wolf falls to the ground. The others stare down in horror at their leader. With a hesitation, they pin their ears to their heads and run quickly away at an uneasy gait through the forest, cowards.

Me and Sam turn our heads, and see a figure holding a gun, poised to shoot again if at all necessary, which I pray not.

Half bathed in star shine, is the gentle form of Rita.

**A/N-**

**Eh. Not much this time. Hope you liked xD **

**There might be a MegxSam relationship forming :)**


	12. Chapter 12

****A/N-****

****TheUnrealInferno, Aww. Thanks :) yet not true.****

****DannySamLover20, I will xD****

****So..do you guys absolutely hate me now? I saw the reviews. You guys..you look ticked. Don't worry, won't kill off Erik.****

**_**Yet **_******:)****

.::PART ONE::.

Chapter Twelve

(Christine's POV)

At present, no scream is imminent. My single sign of shock and fear are my trembling limbs and torso. I push myself up off the hard stage floor and fall down beside the rubble, hand to my mouth. I am not sure how to act first.

I reach out and remove the seemingly fragile fragments, one by one with a resisting tentativeness. His shoulder slowly comes into my line of vision, and I work faster until his torso is fully upright. I journey upwards, the process becoming difficult to withstand.

What will I find?

The brindled pieces crumble underneath my grasp. I throw them aside, insincerity settling in. The pieces escalate to an unaccustomed weight and breadth. I use my dancing-built muscles to haul the load away. At last, when the task is complete, his face is visible. I let go a muffled, subdued cry, and brush any lasting charred wood and metal away. "Erik..." I lay a palm against his cheek, pressing firmly. "_Erik..?_"

Erik coughs and knits his brows with a quizzical countenance, giving away his great confusion.

"__**Erik!**__" I whisper. The tears flow freely, cutting ragged paths down my face.

"..Hmm..?" His eyes open through the mask. Although hazy and solitary, a fabric of hope slices slowly through me, creating a grin to be laid upon my face.

"Are..are you alright?" I ask timidly.

"Let's see: I just had a heap of metal and rotten wood fall upon my head and body moments ago. How do you think I'm fairing?" He snaps, eyes growing cold. Yet it is a norm for him to be this way.

I help him to his unsteady feet, and Erik is allowed to use me as a support. We take the steps one at a time, at an agonizing pace. I grit my teeth at his impending weight, trying to relax my muscles against his own. My shoulders instinctively go back and the blades crash together in a silent cacophony. The pain is crushing on my spine, his deadweight not giving any support.

Once, I try to tell Erik to slacken up. Yet the feeble request seems petty and un-devoted, so I cease my requisitions.

"Where..should we go?" I whisper; a pained occurrence.

There is barely light, and Erik is not enable to lead me down the catacombs in this weakened state.

"Do not worry, Christine. Even in this darkness, I am able to direct.." His voice is softening, his tone oozing defeat. Yet his broad determination and thick arrogance is what fuels his tired body.

"Are you sure-?"

"Yes. I am positive."

"Perhaps if we were to light candles..."

"_No!_" He shouts. Erik glances down briefly, and spots the roughly astounded expression that shadows over my face. He changes his tone, "No. It is fine."

I retreat to a muted, shielded state, and sink back into the dark depths of unease.

Once or twice during our journey, I scowl momentarily, the glower forming more and more abridged as time passes. A distinct guilt has fallen over me, and I double over myself at least one time in this present condition.

I loose myself in this single state, growing accustom to this new, surfacing feeling. If it was not for me, not for my wild chase, Erik would be safe and unharmed.

The hallways begin to form slenderly, narrowing rapidly. I stumble along with the continuing crashing weight slowly, huffing all the while. I try to omit the threatening shame, and yet all endeavors affirm fruitless. How am I ever to rid my mind of this ghostly horror? My cheeks blossom a rosy pink, and I am highly thankful for the stretching darkness that yawn tightly along the cold walls.

"Are we almost there?" I prod softly. My voice quivers uneasily about the hall, guaranteeing my discomfort.

"Yes." He growls weakly, glowing green eyes tinted with an irritated resistance.

_Is he annoyed by my presence? Will he never cease?_ I am frightened this prolonged tension will not desist. _If Erik desired me so much, why is he behaving this way? Why treat me so cruelly?_

The feeling washes over me again, and I shake my tousle of curls in an attempt to subdue my thoughts. In my current brood, I slip to the side and my form cuts against the wall.

My fall stokes our position, and I yelp as Erik's body falls violently against my own. The fall is dutiful. My palms bite viciously into my nails as he flops down beside me, and it takes all my built resistance not to react rashly. I am tired, and he too weak to continue on.

I grasp this moment of rest with a shaking body, and at last allow my muscles to grow relaxed. The ridged bones of Erik's jaw soften. He groans, and I flinch at his pain. It is difficult for him to endure, clearly. Fat tears slide down my face, forming a small puddle on the stones.

I inch closer to my pitiful, broken angel, and lay a hand on his chest. Erik's body is sore, I can feel bumps and bruises beneath his waistcoat. A sharp, metallic stench hits the air and drifts towards me. I pick up the sickly scent; I am impelled to unbutton his layers of clothing. The waistcoat is the first to leave, and I follow suit with a close examination through the white linen shirt he adorns. It is faint in the darkness, but it is there without the slightest of doubts:

_Blood._

It dribbles down his chest, creating a thin trail of scarlet. The tears are coming with more force now, and I bequeath before them.

"Erik.." I croak.

_God, this is all my fault._

I shift and move up, catching the faint glimmer in the dim candlelight. __Glass! He's been cut!__

My breath leaves my body. With no further thoughts, no brief hesitations, I slide the shard from his skin, and throw it down the passageway. There is no cry of pain. Nothing. Not even a small whimper. My heart hammers through my breast, and I am flying as I race to inspect his pulse. It flutters at a decently strong pace.

I shake my head ruefully, grit my teeth, and reach down. I pick up the waistcoat, and with a closer inspection at last take note upon the thin tear from the glass.

"What further pain am I to cause?" I demand quietly.

Despairing sobs furthermore rack my body, causing any patience and calm to disperse. I curl next to Erik, hunched over in my shameful barrier. I press my face against his arm, breathing him in. Erik's distinct scent is mingled with the charred sense of flamed wood. My arms wrap around is available one, and my fingers lace within his gloved ones. I gently pick the leather barriers from Erik's body, and drop them beside me. I am at last free to feel his calloused, rough hands against mine. I close my eyes and whisper against him.

"I'm sorry Erik, _mon Ange._ _Mon amour._ Forgive me. . ._forgive me. . ._"

****A/N-****

****Eh. Fluff in the end, on Christine's part. Hope this doesn't upset you, PhanforLife! I know you were expecting tension. I'll add that in the next chapter with them, don't worry. Any of you who like this Erik and Christine relationship, PLEASE include it in your review :)****

****its not expected****

****And PLEASE don't kill me for doing this to our poor Erik :( -sobsob- I did this to advertise that he is NOT a Mary-Sue, as Raoul is. :) Anyways, hope this chapter wasn't too short and dull. Please feel free to R&R!****

****Btw, hope you guys know your French! If I'm wrong with these terms, tell me please.****

****Amour, Amis, Mon, Ange, they're all French.****

****If you're unaware of the terms, look here-****

**_**Amour**_******- love****

**_**Amis **_******(previous chapter) - friends****

**_**Ange**_******- Angel****

**_**Mon**_******- My****


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N- **

**Riotraeg- I don't think he's a pedophile. In fact, people back in the 1800's did marry young. I mean, they're not going to marry or anything, but..just wanted to state it. Think back to the middle ages- some girls got hitched when they were 12-14! Sometimes, mostly actually, they had no control (but the 1800's aren't the middle ages, so xD) And I guess love knows no age? xDD -shot- Yes, I assume it was rather rude of me to bash Raoul. But I kind of do hold some sort of a dislike against him. Just my preference. I didn't mean to offend. Oh, and calling me "unprofessional", and "rude", it..it kinda hurt. It was my opinion, not anyone else's. Please think about this. I don't mean to arise offense in any way, shape or form. I just wanted to let you know I can be quite sensitive in some areas. I get enough of it at home/ in school. And yes, I know I'm going quite overboard with this. Just wanted to get some desired points across, I suppose. My apologies for behaving childish. I know some things were provoked by your current situation. **

**PhanforLife, D'aww, thank you! ;) glad I could add some sort of tension to a pretty fluffed-up piece. **

**DannySamLover20, Me too :') Hehe. **

**Jasper Blood, WOAH. Look at those there caps. Thank you for such a review, it truly makes me feel special :) Thank you again! So much! **

**TheUnrealInferno, Thank you! :)**

.::PART TWO::.

Chapter Thirteen (Christine's POV)

The thin fabric of light from the candle mounted sturdily upon the cobweb-strewn wall holds no resistance against unbroken darkness. Somewhere, out there in this tormented place we call Earth, is a shred of love. Hope. But not here. And there never will be. None will surface, unless..unless..

The thought forms, yet is blurry and undecipherable. The yearning sensation to shriek out this sudden resistance is unfathomable. I let a soft sigh escape past my lips, and blink slowly in an attempt to vanquish the raging headache which grasps my mind with brutal force.

I squint my eyes and try, to counteract the gloom. Beside me, his form is wavering. Unsteady. I study his mangled outline, trying to conclude his mere existence. I am weary, and I reel when I stand up. I use the wall for support, which I find worthless in my inept being. I feel as if exotic and fresh in new skins, yet unsteady and clumsy. I situate myself back on the cold surface of stone, and slump down beside Erik.

I timidly raise my hand and direct towards him, moving slowly to Erik's damaged body. I run my finger's tips along the edge of his mask, finding the surface with ease. The material is made of soft leather, not the hardened porcelain I had earlier anticipated. I peel it away with abrupt indecision. It slides off his face, leaving his marred flesh exposed. In slight wonder, I examine the skin. As I reach out to grace his face, I quickly retreat as thoughts intrudes.

_Don't be foolish! And do not be transfixed!_

What was I thinking? Erik would not be pleased-I have learned that from recent experiences.

Yet, my hands have a mind of their own.

The tips are the primary element. They make the first unyielding collision. I trace the skin with some hesitance, conjuring up thoughts.

I am jolted as Erik stirs and groans. I have no time for my hand to leave his face before he's opened his eyes and muttering, exhaustion running clear like water throughout every word:

"...What do you presume you're doing?" Erik grabs a tight hold of my wrist, seizing me and leaving any last hope depleted.

...

**(Meg's POV)**

"Rita!" I cry and rush up the slight slope of a hill to embrace my companion. She is shoved back into darkness as I close the distance between us. "You saved us! I am forever grateful."

Sam follows slowly, eyes distant and hostile. The apparent displeasure is focused on Rita.

"Sam-" I start.

"Come, now. Let us go back to camp." Sam says with a forced cheer to his tone.

I concede his anger, and obey. "Sam? Whatever is the matter?" I question as my gait quickens and I side by side with him.

"Nothing, Meg. You wouldn't understand."

"I..I bet I would." I pout, and spin him around to face me. "Now..please, would you inform me the reason for your hostilities?" I am pursuing a very dangerous path. I feel as if on the edge of an unknown cliff, gazing with doe-wide eyes into a bottomless abyss. No return. Not even a final glance once the words are cast and thrown into the tensing air.

"_No_, Meg. I would not wish to speak of it at this moment. Perhaps. . ._later_."

I sigh and regain my steady trot with Rita, flanking her as soon as I let my current gait drop in speed. My friends short black hair is difficult to identify in the darkness as I cast a look swiftly upon her.

"Rita?"

"Yes, Meg?"

"Do..do you know why Sam would behave in such a manner towards me? He was so calm before the wolves appeared and you drove them away.."

"Well, Meg. Sam has never been one to behave kindly for such a period of time-"

"Yes, yes. I know.." I say, my voice dropping as my disappoint surfaces.

Rita lets go a softened sigh, and attempts reassurance, "I've never understood men. Never have, and I _never_ will."

...

**(Christine's POV)**

"I..I.."

"You **what?**" Erik snaps. His voice his coarse, beaten down and withered slightly.

"I don't know." I confess, keeping my head lowered and my gaze averted.

"It's about time you've learned.." He growls softly, derisively.

We sit in a muddled silence. I'm drowning once again, falling faster and faster into the point of no return. If I do not get this out, it will never rise and see the light of day ever again. I must act now, and I must act quickly.

"Why?"

"Why, _**what**_, Christine?" He hisses. Erik's eyes are increasing their weight, growing heavy with every moment we pass by.

"Why must you treat me with such **cruelty?**"

Suddenly, the tension in this cramped area grows, and I feel as if my life is hanging by a thread. One false counter and its over for me.

"I do not!" Erik argues. He snatches the mask from the ground and ties it around his head with force.

"Yes, yes you do! You always are behaving like I am a bother, a pest, and that I will never concede. That I will never cease pestering you. And that you are constantly irritated by my presence. I have come to learn, Erik. I have come to understand you, this lair, and my.."

"Your what?" Erik asks. His eyes are only slightly parted. He is on the brink of passing.

"My _true _emotions. My _true_ feelings. For you."

"And I suppose their full of bitter hate and-"

"No, Erik! I love you! I love you, damn it!" I have no clue what I am more shocked by: my use of vocabulary, or my confessions.

"Erik..?"

No reply is forthcoming.

I lean forward, and rest my hand on his shoulder. His breathing is faint; shallow. I continue to stare and call out his name. He is unresponsive. I even result to patting his face.

"_**Erik!**_"

No matter how many times I call out to him, he does not wake.

**A/N**

**Well thar. Sorry for a late update, short chapter, and YET another cliffe. **

**-evil laugh resounds- Hope you enjoyed. Oh, and pardon Christine's language at the end. She was pretty enraged at the moment. And yes, Erik STILL hasn't told us why he is acting so cruel. Perhaps he never will :( **

**Please don't hate me, you guys. **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N- **

**There are too many reviews for me to write back to them all (And I LOVE EVERY one of them!) **

**For this, I thank you. Love your reviews, guys. Even if you're mostly snapping at me. Seriously, did you all have to go THAT overboard with it? **

**Geez. **

**But I'd like to say thank you to Oreocookiesrock, MaskofEvil, and spokawoka5678! Those were sweet reviews. And I love your usernames! :) **

**(not to exclude ANY of my other current reviewers- you guys rock!) **

**Here's the next chapter. Enjoy, and please R&R! **

**Oh, and Stardash19? I AM going to use your idea. It was brilliant!**

.::PART TWO::.

Chapter Fourteen (Christine's POV)

_Erik. I'm so sorry._

The thoughts constantly pulse throughout my mind, resound strongly through my being. The constant flutter of my heart has grown weak with unrelenting disappointment and rash anger. I'm flooded with the consistent feelings, and they soon take hold of my whole. I repeat over and over, never ending. I want to stop. I need to stop.

But I cannot.

_Erik..Please..forgive me.._

There is a distant sound, much like a whisper of a song. It lifts my spirits, heightening the thread of hope that binds me together. It strengthens its iridescent bonds, and creates something unknown to internally emerge.

_Christiine..._

It dims, softens, the yearning crescendo dying with the tiny hopeful flame of the hushed word that inhabits my core. Although the whisper in my mind has faded, intertwined along the dust within, the thoughts and love stay there.

He has spoke into my mind once again.

...

**(Raoul's POV)**

The dawn arrives with a swift benevolence, gifting us with a formal light. It proves helpful for only a brief amount of time as it lights our various paths, yet blooming to a sweltering heat as the day progresses.

I run the back of my hand along my brow, and push through the day, persevering with a familiar vengeance.

_Christine..._

I repeat her name in my head, reminding myself this is all for her, and she will be mine once more in fleeting time. The weapons and ammunition arrive as expected. I turn on my heel from my latest duties to greet the men who I have taken account for.

They haul the countless weapons to and fro, passing them carelessly to each astounded member.

Meg dumbly brandishes a pistol, and I relieve her of the loaded weapon. "Perhaps you shall have the honor of carrying _this_ _weapon_ if you do well in training." I mutter.

I glance over to a small group of men, Sam included. I gaze at the smug young man, and take note upon his weapon of choice: a sharpened sword.

_Damageable, true. But a correct choice? _

I continue my hesitating stare. What does the future hold for him?

I greatly alter my stance, and I shift into a light jog as I near the center of the group. "Gentlemen, ladies. It is come to my attention that you all are in desperate need of a bit of training. You surely cannot catch the Opera Ghost with no experience. Now, I will let all of those signs of displeasure subsided. Let us commence in a way with determination and happiness! Shall we begin?"

There are a few collective grunts of approval. I take it as my best shot.

"Come! We have _much_ to do!"

...

**(Christine's POV) **

The day progresses. Erik and I sit in an silence that proves to be so. I gaze upon his quivering form with high uncertainty, my lack of faith wavering as the time lengthens. In the darkness, I watch his parted mouth move with a unknown rhythm. His breath billows unstably through his lips, frightening me all the more. My eyes run along his battered body, my throat tightening as tears jeopardize to destroy the thin barrier of resolution I have built.

I hunch down to him once more, this certain process seeming utterly repetitive. I curl up against him with my cheek resting upon his chest, and am at last thankful he has the burden of unconsciousness; he is not able to see me break down yet another moment. I know it is a wicked thought, but I cannot force it away.

_Erik. . ._

There is no reply. I snake around to face him, and allow my face to hover a foot above his own. I cradle Erik's cheek, my tears ceasing as I lean down. One option left.

The kiss is an illusion of limitless time. I pray within the aroused walls of my mind that he will survive, and wake renewed. Erik's eyes flutter open before my own. Mine open and widen with shock, mixing with a softened glee. I give a cry and rest against his form, the smile never leaving my face.

"You..you're still present. You have not left?" Erik asks dryly.

"Well of course not. Do you not remember-?"

"No, I fear I do not. What were you speaking of?" His quizzical expression throws me overboard as the news settles: he did not hear my earlier confession. Not one word.

"It was nothing you should be concerned of." I say. My face plasters a fictitious grin.

Erik tilts his head to the right to stare down the dim passage, then winces as pain takes full control. I flinch myself and do my best to steady.

"We must go, Christine. The longer I stay here, the longer I break."

I shift in position and allow what little light we have to be cast down upon Erik. He grimaces as fresh pain electrifies his senses. I help him to his feet, and try to steady my own as well. I find both of our lower limbs wobbly, thus forcing us to continue at a snail-like pace.

"This is all my fault, Erik.." I hiss. We stagger along, growing closer to the desired destination.

"Yes. Yes it was." Erik growls. When I look up, his lips are tilted up in a..smile.

I exchange one of my own, and we limp once again.

"Erik..?"

"_Yes?_"

"So, you did not hear a word of what I was telling you before you blacked out?"

"Can't say I do.." Erik replies.

I sigh, allowing this misfortune to slide by as well. Perhaps he will remember in time.

After all, is it not the best medicine?

**A/N- **

**yay for no cliffe! Erik is fine, I presume...? I wouldn't kill him off, you sillies :) **

**So, sorry this one was short. I hadn't expected it at all. **

**Terribly sorry. Please review! ;) **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N- **

**Hey all! guess what? I've added a poll in my profile. I hope some of you take some time to reply to it :) **

**Oh yes! More reviews than I can count and reply to (not to arise offense) **

**thank you all! Sorry for the late update; life has been**

**. . . hectic. **

.::PART TWO::.

Chapter Fifteen (Christine's POV)

The lake opens up eerily, sending several lengthy tremors to envelop my body, and distract me from any further cause.

The mist pools about and around our feet, snaking slyly up to lick at our ankles. I am utterly spooked, while Erik remains in a clam state; it could even be mistaken for a relaxed expression with the present emotions registering on his enervated face.

Although the water looks serene, I know faraway in the smooth depths lie something remotely more electrifying. Once you are to step foot, you are greeted by a wave of icy terror that eagerly seizes and engulfs. Aside from shock and numbness, nothing else materializes.

And that may be the utmost appalling attribute of all.

"I'm perfectly satisfied with the... damp, dark passageway we earlier inhabited to take up further residence, Erik. This lake..dose not suit both of our needs, surely." I squeak.

This arouses severe irritation, "Well, today might not be your luckiest. It's either go through the lake, or limp aimlessly to the other side for inconceivable hours. Which sounds more appealing?"

"Actually, the-"

"Will you accept it like a ninny, Christine, or like the audacious, gallant young woman I've come to know?"

I blush at the mere compliment. "I suppose we could.."

"Good. Now, let us begin."

The trek is laborious; utterly exhausting on both of our bodies. The water gurgles and protests with spraying droplets that cling to my dress and skirts. The cold rushes up to meet me with a hardened smack in the legs. Erik towers above me at least a head. His stronger build allows less water to make icy contact, and I am blind with constant envy I withhold.

I begin to shiver when we progress to the middle. My body has shut down, blurring and softening the edges of fine life and even the diminutive differences between light and shadow; tension and relaxation.

_I cannot, Erik..I cannot go farther.. _I am gasping for breath, eyes wide with terror that expands to an external craziness; fueled on simple hysterics.

_Yes, you can, Christine!_

_I am afraid, Erik. So very frightened. _

_I am here, __Ange, I am here._ _You do not need to hold fear against even the slightest thing. You are strong, and shall preserve. _

His beautiful words he whispers into my head gives me a strength I have never before held in my shaking grasp. Oh, the power! The energy he has given through his consequential intelligence!

The dam that had once blocked and bridled a barrier against my courage has just ceased, shattered and cracked as the sea of determination convicts my bravery. It rushes past and into the parched canyon of my soul, renewing every last inch with a rapid velocity.

I step my gait up, and allow Erik room and time to match with my own. We are closing in, breaking the distance. It's only when we are less than a yard away does Erik decide to increase the pressure upon my body, and pass out once more.

...

**(Meg's POV) **

At sunset, we train with a vengeful attitude.

Rita has shown growth and excels most defiantly in the shooting range. She hits each target, brows drawn together. It shocks me that the petite ballerina is able to hold and operate such a weapon.

I try my hardest, yet find it deficient. I glance over at Rita's hunched position; she's fired another perfect row.

_Blast!_ I think.

I scowl and throw the weapon down, as the events are unsatisfactory again. In my rage, I storm off and take refuge in the forests beyond.

My spine skims along the rough bark of a tree, and I slide towards the leaf-strewn ground, plopping my bottom down on the forest floor.

"Fancy meeting you here." Sam emerges from behind a pine, and I gasp when he strides over.

"You frightened me, Sam!" I exclaim, wide-eyes growing even larger.

"My apologizes." He grunts, and sits along side me.

"Tell me, Sam. What was troubling you last night?"

"Meg..I do not wish to arise any-"

"Please, Sam! I would like to know." I smile.

Sam sighs and closes his eyes with a peculiar force. "When..when the wolves arrived..and they threatened to attack, a feeling swept over me. An emotion and surge to protect and defend you, Meg. That was all murdered when Rita arrived swiftly before I could do a thing. She prevented me from being your savior."

"Sam..do you _honestly_ feel that way?" I press. It puzzles me. A quizzical look resides to my face, contorting my features.

"Of course, Meg!"

"Well, there _must _be a reason.."

"The reason?" Sam scoffs, "nothing other than my love."

...

**(Erik's POV-at last!) **

The first thought that registers through out my sleep-induced mind is:

_I am dead. _

Yet my convictions are broken as the light floods my eyes, and obscures my vision from the exterior world. She floats silently above me, an angel silhouetted in a brilliant silver light. Her dark, wild curls fall delicately over her ivory skin, making her angelic appearance all the more enthralling. Her chocolate eyes stare intently into mine.

"_**Christine..**_" I growl low in my throat, narrowing my eyes to an extent where they are closed.

"Shhh.._shhh_.." Christine silences any future words, and detaches my mask, laying it softly upon the bed on which I lay. She places the back of her soft hand to my forehead.

"You do not have a fever. I hope you find some relief in this." Christine says gently. She strokes my jaw, and I am frozen, bewilderment taking hold at her outward display of affection.

Christine's hand departs, and a tingling sensation from where her fingers recently were begins to develop.

"Christine?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"Whatever happened? I cannot recall a thing!"

"We were close to shore, and you passed out. You fell from my straining grasp, and tumbled into the water. I had to hoist you out, with all of the strength I had left within. I took you back here, and.." Christine glances down, and I at last take notice upon my bare chest. I am in nothing but my breeches.

"**Christine!**" I bellow. It stings to use so much force, and I try to stay calm to prevent further pain.

"What? You were sodden from head to toe. And your shirt had been bloodied from the glass when it cut you. At least I had the decency not to undress you all the way!" Christine is partly fuming, unhappy with my conflicting anger. Her face ignites in rosy pink, cheeks flushing as she does so.

"You are correct. I am sorry for my outburst." I say, and allow my muscles to relax.

Her face simmers back to its divine alabaster. Christine nods, and gives a tiny smile- one that I find I treasure. It baffles me.

She lays a damp cloth on my chest, and cleans out the wound with a gentle care. The injury burns with a thousand infernos. My skin, slick with sweat, begins to bead increasingly as the pulsing of my heart remains.

I stare up at Christine and she looks to me from under her thick eyelashes, a sweetened innocence playing on her resplendent face.

"Christine-" I choke out.

"You must eat, Erik." She replies swiftly. She removes the cloth, her pleasant warmth disperses from my chest, and my familiar bitterness evolves. She passes me an apple, and I receive the provision hesitantly.

"I hope you have not poisoned it." I say darkly.

Christine clutches her breast and looks upon me dramatically with widened eyes, "Oh, that I have! Just one bite, _and you shall be sentenced to sleep for all of eternity!_"

"You will have to place me in a coffin-" I chime.

"-Of _glass!_"

Christine lets free a small laugh, and I a hearty chuckle. Our eyes cross paths, merging with slowness. My own grow alluring, and find it morphs her emotions to and extent almost like mine.

Christine shakes her head to clear an unknown thought that arises. She smiles and places a playfully evil mask of a face to her appearance. "I surely have poisoned that apple. I believe it would be to both of our best interests if you ate the merciless fruit."

"...So I shall sleep for _countless years?_"

"Precisely!" Christine chirps.

I take a bite of the sweet produce with a loud crack.

"Drowsy?" She murmurs, eyes glittering. She notes my every move, gazing so intently it causes me to perspire ever more greatly.

"Very." I yawn, and hold back a cry of pain as it shoots along my chest and jaw. I will not destroy this moment.

"You can easily see I am skilled in the art of witchcraft." Christine muses.

"Clearly.." I pause a moment, glancing up. "Perhaps..a certain mademoiselle would care to indulge in this powerful apple as well?" I hold it up, her eyes are transfixed.

"Perhaps.." Christine mumbles inarticulately.

She receives the apple from my hold and takes a small nibble of the meat from the opposing side, forming yet another dent in the red coloring. She allows it to drop to the floor with a small thud.

"I..can feel it working.." Christine says softly, giving a half-smile.

I return it, my concealed happiness at last bubbling over and set free like a caged bird.

"Oh!" Christine lets out a yelp, falling to the floor, unconscious.

"Christine!" I shout, and with the pain searing through my body, leap from the bed to reach her.

I lean above her, eyes frantic and pleading. _God, no..please..!_

Christine's eyes are sealed,fluttered to a gentle closure. I pat her face gently, the timid actions growing more forceful.

Christine opens her eyes almost instantly, and cradles the red part of her face where I had slapped. She gives a great laugh, sitting up quickly with an unending grin, "Well, I certainly had you there! You are quite a gullible man, Erik."

My eyes narrow at her evil deception. "How _**dare**_ you? I almost had a heart attack!"

"But you did not!" She smiles, and stands. I am helped to my feet, my fuming anger turning to embarrassed characteristics.

She is still giggling as I tell her this, "Alright. You've had your fun. Promise me you will never attempt such deceit again."

Christine smiles boldly, "I promise."

**A/N- **

**First Erik, now Christine? Oh, how many more are going to pass out? xDD **

**And, kind of disgusting how Raoul is **_**training**_** them, is it not? xD lol. Guess it is what you do for love. **

**Please review! :) Oh, and the reference Erik and Christine make towards the apple (continuing throughout the scene) is based from a Brother's Grimm tale (or perhaps you all may defiantly know from the Disney Film) Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. **

**Of course, there were no silly little men named Sneezy, Dopey, and so forth added into my fanfiction. I just had the apple tie in with it. **

**Oh, aren't I clever! *Punjabbed from behind* **

**I'm such a dork :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N- **

**Thank you everyone for the reviews! I love them! They're all so sweet :) Prepare for some anguish in this chapter. I've revised it so many times, when in reality I never really do revision xD **

.::PART TWO::.

Chapter Sixteen (Christine's POV)

Our promise is made and sealed. I am to never pull such trickery upon him ever again. I reduce my grin, and begin to speak, changing the subject with a strange swiftness, "Erik, I am not finished tending to your wounds. Please allow me to further inspect."

He sits himself back onto the bed, positioned upright at the moment. I reach for the cloth, and feel the damp material growing dry. Since I am not the exact disposition to rise and collect more water to soak, I ignore the bland of it and pursues further.

"You're going to have to turn around for me.." I say in a hushed whisper, as if not to startle him.

"I am well, Christine. You need not worry." Erik replies with heavy terseness weighing down his tone. His smokey green eyes begin to blanch, and my doubt swells to make contact with my throat, inching slowly up.

"I will not harm you. I promise.." I answer with a soft gentleness. My hand goes to his unmarred cheek, and I rest my palm there. "Please, would you be so kind and turn around for me?"

Erik gives a sigh; one that inflicts great pain. It causes my heart to wrench and twist. He pivots, and I am greeted with a ghastly sight.

The scars that criss-cross his back are pink, long, and treacherous. They span the length of his neck, and beyond. I run my fingers along the damaged flesh, tracing small patterns along the gashes.

"My _God_, Erik..what kind of life have you been faced with?" I question through gritted teeth. My words are caged, held back and forming in a staccato as a sob threatening to break free. I purse my lips, and feel my eyes begin to sting around the edges. My vision blurs, a watery film settling over. I tilt my head skywards, and blink with rapid force.

"You've heard my story..why bother asking again?" He growls. His piecing gaze is on mine as I leap to the other side of him and crawl onto the bed, eyes betraying my centering disbelief.

"But those? You have yet to share how you have accumulated them.." I protest, putting my hand to his face.

Erik turns away, shame ridden with non dissolving holes in his pride that resides within his heart. "This story is not for those who have such a weak heart." Erik replies, his stare still fixed intently upon an unknown force.

"I believe I will understand." I whisper.

Erik joins his brows as emotions conflict, battling for power over his speech. "..Promptly after I was abandoned and the gypsies and circus people received me.." Erik swallows, "I was put on show. I was their target, part of their game in which they took pleasure in. People laughed at my hideous half-face, while none took pity upon. I had not expected them to, as I presently do today.

"Eventually, the gypsies grew weary of me. They began to use their whips. At first, it was once a week. Then it escalated, to perhaps once a day. They preformed the act of cruelty with less force when they were not sober, due to their un-functional minds and bodies. With rapid speed, they delivered blows. Never once did was I allowed to see a doctor. Never once was there an apology. The circus man who ran the act got what he deserved: a brutal murder inflicted upon by the boy he tortured." Erik glowers, not even glancing my way.

"Erik.." I whisper.

"Do not attempt to control me, Christine. It shall be futile."

"I-"

"Please, leave me be."

"But, Erik-"

"Now, Christine! **Leave!**" I stand and exit the bedchamber, rounding a corner. I slam into a thick wall, which earns me a swift bump to the skull. I prod the bruise, which is located at the peak of my forehead. Unsatisfied, I whip away and storm down the stairs.

Finding a less-than-suitable chair, I throw my body upon it and begin to cry.

Not because of my latest injury, but because of my angel.

...

**(Erik's POV)**

It is_ her_ fault.

**She **bestowed this upon me.

If it was not for her, for the acts she has committed, never would I be feeling this pain of the old memories. I bury my face to my hands, tensing my muscles to undertake the ungodly terror that distends. I swallow the lump that arises, and come back up, heaving for breath.

"_Christine..._" I groan. I pound my fist several times to the covers, face withers as my rage heightens to a new scale. I am no longer enraged with my angel, but with myself.

I have damaged her, and there is no way to reclaim it. I spin around and am directed in front of one of my various mirrors that was not destroyed during the filthy mobs' raid.

I am disgusted with myself.

I move wildly around, my gaze darting to objects around the bedchamber. All prove to be worthless. I reach for a goblet that rests perfectly upon a table nearest the bed, and raise it in a striking stance.

With all my fury encased, I bring it down twice. It shatters the glass in an explosion.

I throw the goblet down, cracking any glass that has descended to the floor. I stare down to my hands, take slight note on the trickling blood. Shrugging it off, I slip on my shirt.

And with clenching fists, pain grabbing hold of my whole, I walk away.

…

**(Christine's POV) **

Shadows floods my vision, obscuring my sight. I blink my eyes open slowly, becoming gradually aware of a peculiar ache.

I am wound in a spiral of depression and pain. My heart thunders oddly and uncontrollably in my chest; unstoppable. I sit up and place a hand to my head, feeling for the source of pain. A small rise at the tip of my head, an aching mark I wish only to evaporate.

I moan and slink slowly back into the chair, seeking safety and warmth. Yet it only offers loneliness and a chill.

When Erik enters, I am not aware. At least for some time. Yet when I do, our eyes make contact almost immediately.

I drop my gaze inch by inch, to his hands. The blood suggests glass.

"Erik..?" I stand and travel over with a held-back gait. "What did you do?"

"A bit of.._rearranging._" He mutters, staring me down like I am the cause of all of his misery and troubles.

"What do you mean?" I demand. I shove past him and enter the bedchamber, my eyes flying wide.

My foot makes contact with the glass before I've the chance to make a hasty retreat. I let out a bursting clamor and walk out, hissing my objections. "That was..one of the **stupidest **things you have ever done. And believe me, _monsieur_, I can name at least a thousand!" I holler.

I have no idea why I'm acting this forceful way. Perhaps it is the decrease of sleep, or the lack of kindness I have received. Whichever, I am almost at my wits end.

"I wouldn't be behaving this way if you weren't such a pest!" Erik retorts.

"A pest? How have I-?"

"Following after me in the passageways and snooping into my past. These scars have **nothing **to do with you."

"Perhaps I was a bit concerned for your well-being? Or is that too much? Should I just stay your silent, eternal serf?" I raise my voice to try to match with his constant bellows. My eyes slit, and I stare to balance this argumentative scale. He's tipping fast, the weight I bare becoming too great for him to latch and counteract.

"God in heaven, would cease these counters?" Erik storms, yet his crumbling wall of security is being torn down rapidly.

I must finish the job.

I step forward, trailing blood behind me in my thundering wake. Lightning crackles and shoots around us, fire-working with each stride closer. With an inch left to finish, I press the tip of my finger to his chest, begging with a hardened demeanor. "And would you just love me? _Damn you, Erik._ **Damn you!** How can you not see!"

"_What?_"

"You fool! _My love_! I love you, Erik!" I repeat this over until my voice is hoarse as I strain. I beat his chest, my throws growing weaker as my tears increase in amount. I clench my jaw and glare up at him, whispering, "I love you..."

Erik shakes his head, and his own tears begin to flow and drizzle like rain in a thunderstorm. "Do you realize how long..I've waited to hear you say those three words? And not by force? Or blackmail? Or murder? God, Christine..!" Erik leans his forehead to my shoulder, and I pause.

With a shaking arm, I bring him closer and share in the tormented embrace.

Erik raises his head, his eyes red from the tears he has produced. "How, Christine? How?"

"What? I'm not sure I understand.." I reply.

"How could you love such a wicked creature such as I? My abhorrent face, my horrible acts of cruelty-"

"I've learned to forgive in my lifetime." I smile. "And this face.." I put my hand to the mangled skin, "Is beautiful." I kiss the deformed flesh, pulling back only when I believe necessary.

Erik holds me tightly, his fingers gripping into my arms with brutal force; so much it leaves white marks on my skin. Erik scans my eyes, noting the quizzical expression. "I'm not letting you go. _Ever.._" He growls.

"Erik.." I hold up my hand, the ring glittering its promise in the low light. "I'm never going to leave."

Erik's face cracks into a delighted grin. "That makes two of us."

**A/N- There. I've done it. Erik at last knows he's loved. Oh, our poor, poor Erik. So confused, in such misery :( I hope Christine can change it. Sorry for the crappy chapter. Please review! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N- **

**SO sorry for the late update, guys. I've been sick :( it has been hard for me to write. Plus, my life has grown busier :) **

**Ireland Savage, Oh, do not be ashamed! Please, it's fine. I've been in your shoes many times before. Sometimes, a thought enters my mind then disperses without warning. So don't worry :) **

**JasperBlood, I made you cry? No! I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm sorry! :( Unless those were..tears of joy xD **

**PittsBurgFuzz, Oh, thank you! ;) TheUnrealInferno, Thanks..I really appreciate it c: **

**MaskofEvil, I'm glad! **

**Diana Flor, Thank you! I'm happy you have been enjoying. :) **

.::PART TWO::.

Chapter Seventeen (Meg's POV)

"Your..love?"

"Meg, do not act like such a dimwit. Can you not comprehend?" Sam questions acutely. His eyes flame, digits drawn together to form balls in his exasperation.

"I do! But..I do not understand. After the way you've treated me, and..." I am lost for words. Instead of embracing an elated spirit, a soaring heart, I feel strange and in a rather stupid position.

"I've _changed,_ Meg. I've changed." Sam urges. A smile breaks his face.

The infectious disease rubs off, and a grin lights my mouth.

Sam sighs. "Yet the question is..if you happen to feel the same way towards me."

I am frozen, fear clinging to my ribs and slinking to wrap about my being, urging my mind to succumb to the darkness that is distress. The smile fades as my mouth goes dry.

"I am impatiently awaiting your reply, Meg Giry."

I turn my head, glancing with ire upon the man. "It is as if you expect me to say 'yes'!"

"I **do!**"

I stand, and tower over him. The false height gives me a power. One I don't understand. "It is a no, Monsieur Sam. It is a _no._"

Sam stands shakily to his feet, teeth gritting in his anger. "You will regret this, Miss Giry."

With a ferocious turn of his body, he forever banishes my presence and storms back to camp.

...

**(Christine's POV) **

The embrace loosens, and we both release with parallel exhales. My head tilts to face my Angel; I see him smile and it's all over. "Erik.._Mon Amour._"

As I speak, his hand moves across my jaw with grace, "Yes, _Ma Exquise Colombe_?"

"_Svp, jouez-moi votre musique!_"

Erik tenses, draws away. The warmth of his touch is a ghost upon my features.

"Christine.."

"You've heard my request. Do you wish to fulfill?"

"No." He says icily.

"No? Whatever is your reason?"

"I do not want to reveal it." Erik hisses, and steps further away.

"Please, _Mon Ange!_" I flit away, the slight drizzle of blood already vanished, in the direction of the organ. I grab at the papers. They are nearly in my unyielding grasp, when Erik's hand comes into view and seizes my wrists. "_Lâchez-moi_.." I gasp softly.

His grip relents, yet his gaze does not.

"_Please..?_" I beg childishly. I'm slipping farther away, his stare intently forming a new emotion.

"Very well." He grunts, and snatches them away.

_God, it's been so long since I've heard that voice. _The voice that formally used to unwind my senses and purge my soul to a new world. The voice..that powerful voice..that I've missed. Longed for. Yearned for. Erik begins his song with a softened tone, the normal lifting crescendo never arising through out this piece. It is new. It is not rich and controlling; sensual or drawing. Instead, the music is soft and assuring. That all of the fears of the world shall never prosper, that love and hope shall vanquish the shadows of doubt as well as evil. And that it will renew the Earth to a peaceful state. I close my eyes, and sway to the beat of the graceful song. I loose myself in his voice, drowning in the thick waters of bliss.

"Erik..that was..magnificent." I breathe, "Your voice was flawless."

"It is surely not as pure..without yours." Erik whispers. "I must turn it into a duet."

My eyes flicker open to greet his. Erik's eyes dance with a determined light.

I grin, and loop my hands about his neck, interlocking my fingers. I tilt my head, and look upon him with full regard. His hands go to my waist, where they rest. My eyelids flitter with my heart at his touch. I find my voice, "I shall be waiting."

...

**(Raoul's POV)**

"_Mon Dieu!_ Is the task difficult? Honestly, Sam, just pull the trigger!" I belt out the commands, eyes slitting against the sun that pelts down to my face, blotching my vision. Sam kneels to the ground, teeth grinding against the sharp voice that intrudes.

"Sam! Did you hear me! **Sam?**"

The young man rears up and towers above, his form creating a shadow to leak to my face. "I heard you. I just prefer not to _listen._" He hisses.

The poison in his words slip across, and seems to injure my pride. "Is that so?" I counter. I reach for the weapon, and shove at his chest. "_Work_. Or I'll have you dismissed."

Sam flashes me another single heated glance, and returns to his labor.

I give a cold smile and direct my attention to the surrounding people. I stand atop a rock, posturing and positioning in a way so I can observe them all.

My voice raises as I address. "I have come to notice much improvement and great skill in this group. Although some of you may not be..tolerable.." I give Sam a half-hearted stare, " I can assure you all will do well. Therefor, I believe it is time for us to put our plan in action."

I take my sword and grip the hilt, slashing it slightly through the air. I slice the wind, and cut against the howling thickness. "Tonight, we shall befall, and capture the Opera Ghost!"

A thunder of roaring erupts and shatters the silence. They are pleased. They are ready. They are prepared.

"We shall go to the Opera House. It will be our primary stop, for I'm certain he'll be lurking the depths. **My** _fiancée_ is with him. And I intend to get her back."

As the last of the light leaves the world and kisses it good-bye, we head out in search of the Phantom.

**A/N- **

**_Svp, jouez-moi votre musique_- Please, play me your music **

**_Ma Colombe Exquise_- my exquisite dove **

**_Lâchez-moi_- Let me go **

**_Mon Dieu_- My God **

_***ALL According to Google Translate* **_

**I have NO CLUE why I used so much French in this one xD **

**I wanted to make things different, I suppose.. This chapter was short because it's simmering down to the end of the fanfic. I _might _make a sequel, though. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey guys. **

**Sorry it has taken so long. I wanted to make the last chapter good. There was a lot of thinking involved , lol xD and..I was banned from the computer for quite some time as well. I hope I haven't lost any of you guys! :( **

**It's been nice! I've really enjoyed all of your reviews :) **

**ExC fics are quite fun to write and plot, aren't they? Such a complicated relationship. **

**Well everyone, time for the end. Eh. I knew this would come pretty fast. I hope you all have enjoyed my story. I absolutely adore ALL reviews that have been or will be sent in. Thank you all. **

**Thank you c: Oh! And I added a link on my profile! To a forum website for Role-Playing and whatnot. If you all do not read this, I'll PM it to you. Or simply let me know if you want it in your review. Here it is, the last chapter.. **

.::PART TWO::.

Chapter Eighteen (Meg's POV)

The world around draws a tranquil feeling within. Yet with the calm atmosphere, my barriers are depleting with a rapid force. The night sky is coated in a thick layer of stardust. It illuminates the ground to a gentle glow. It is frightening how such a night could appear so peaceful.

He is there.

He always shall be.

Looming, watching, my personal hawk.

Sam.

Yet.. I cannot cease this pull. This twinge. Why? Why did I reply negatively?

I steal a glance. His fresh, outward disregard irks me. I scowl, and pull on ahead to shatter the last of the light to a stretching darkness. I gasp; Sam passes me by, lassoing me in a rope of uncertain sufficiency.

As his feather-light brush expands and vanishes, I am left with a rigid chest and an unhurried beat of heart.

The growling enters my ears before the fear has a chance to begin. In a flash, heads are raised. The wolves step from the leaking shadows. They glow with a significant anger in the bleak light of the moon. The hollowed eyes, protruding ribs and blood-stained jaws are visible. Yet only in dim flashes.

I fiddle with my dagger they have supplied me with. Then next my gun, my utmost priority in this trapped state. The others let out a few startled gasps, horrified shrieks to express their bewilderment and fear toward the larger menaces. Sam is the first to step forward. He will not be made the individual in distress at this moment. At least not yet.

His weapon is a pale outline in the dark.

"Sam.." I whisper harshly. "You do not have to do this. You could get killed!"

He mentally evades from my disquieting alert. I cannot stop him. I cannot cease his actions. Perhaps his ravenous vigor shall assist in approaching combat.

Raoul lets his foot crack against the dead leaves. All wolf eyes are trained to him. The Vicomte retreats with an unsteady pace, his limb shaking and at last reaching to power his torso with a vibrating fear. "Come, now, Sam. There is no need to intervene. Take Miss Giry's statement; you shall be killed if you take a step furthermore."

"I wouldn't find trouble if the pack as a whole took feast upon me, monsieur...!" Sam retorts. He takes his place beside him, towering above to try to increase false intimidations.

As the retaliations continue and fuming words streak madly across, the wolves are advancing closer. They have lost their fear of being without a leader; power abandonment has not struck them down yet.

Rita touches my shoulder, signaling I part and make way. I do as suggested, and step placidly aside to let the brush consume my form.

The small ballerina allows her throat a clear, and the men turn their heads and throw an impolite glare her way. Rita takes a stance, and fires once in the direction of the animals, grazing a tree to a fine point. They have yet to move. One flinches as a second is slashed through the air to hit the trembling branches above. When the third and last bullet makes a sharp and defining verge with the single, unfortunate beasts' flesh, the rest scatter as if the devil was upon them.

Rita turns and addresses the quarrelers with a smug look. "And that, my friends, is how you rid yourself of a _beast_."

Sam closes his slack, open jaw and shoves past Raoul. His imprudent actions have cost him yet another defeat.

"What? Am I sensing jealousy within?" I question as I make my way towards him. We are moving again, yet at a silent and less than casual gait as our anxiety and fear for our lives has topped to an unfamiliar height.

"Of-of course not!" Sam stammers, "Why would you ever accuse me of such a thing?"

I snort, and force this through, "You have _always_ been an envious man, Sam, and shall surely die one."

...

**(Raoul's POV)**

The trees whisper vengeance, with an urging hiss of acclaim. Their approval of my hunt creates the drive within more powerful.

As the brush thins out, and streets become visible to mark apparent business nearby, the rest of my group senses this. Excitement is drawn through the air in a thick line, forming a barrier of enthusiasm for us all to trek.

I call joyously over my shoulder, "Not longer now, mates!"

I feel levity in this situation- and as some find this sickening, I find elate.

We trek onward upon cobblestone and dirt, seeming to travel to no discernible location. Yet, as the scorched, golden "palace" comes into our views, our gait is automatically quickened, without any orders by yours truly. We carefully pick our way across, and cut through the availing fog.

When we come upon the boarded doors, my hopes plummet to my feet until I'm left, abandoned with a former flame. "Well, we tried.." A man in the back of the crowd says, backing away slowly. Perhaps he has had too much, and indication has once more seized another. I motion with an irritated flick of my head, and soon enough the ignorant being is dragged back.

"An axe, please.." I rasp.

One is brought forth, and I accept with a slight tremor. I am not skilled in this weapon, and I ponder my ability and intelligence with it.

I grip it with trembling hands, my digits growing slick with sweat. The hearty blade of the axe comes down, and destroys the wood to allow us parted vision of inside. With a handful more thrusts and hacks, I have a suitable entrance available for use.

"Gentlemen, ladies; I grant you entrance."

I give a sly smile, a long, extended gesture of the hand. We step inside, allowing the dust to erupt and the darkness to cloak all who tread.

...

The catacombs of the dreaded Opera Ghost a horrid place to travel. It was tricky to find, and more than once we had almost fell through traps the demon had set- one being that damned water pit.

I attempt to banish other thoughts from my mind, and focus on Christine. A vision of her; a flash of her smile, a glimpse of soft brown hair floating gently down the curve of her back.

Yet every time her whole surfaces, the devil does as well.

The thought of his hands upon her fragile body, forever staining the pureness of her flesh, or the vision of his mouth crushed to her cowering form sends my teeth to grind. How could she ever have chosen such a wicked creature? Surely, Christine was being the selfless person she has always been. It was for me. What other emotion would convey her to do such a thing?

I pause as a mouse or two scurries along the passageway, squeaking their bleak indifference. A few anticipating gasps are let go from the females of the group, and the caught breath is let go as the squealing is brought down to a minimum level. "Come now, do not be frightened. There is nothing to fear. After all, this is still the Opera House." Meg pipes up, bringing a band of light to the situation. Clearly, she takes note upon the discomfort of the group as well. We continue on, determined to finish our work.

...

**(Erik's POV) **

The time wares on, most of it spent directly looking into one another.

"Erik.."

Christine's eyelids flutter, her lashes fanning her delicate cheekbones. Her breath catches in her throat as my hands connect to her hips.

I wrap my arms about her back, and my fingers press into her flesh. She gives a sigh as I draw her closer, occupying the space between us with our linking warmth.

I slip two fingers underneath her chin, and slowly gain enough height for our eyes to meld and exchange fond glimpses.

Our mouths connect, and we soon acquire more to an extended length.

Yet the yearned-for moment is soon shattered as a sound infests my ears. One that sends my rage to a fresh level. And one that sends Christine's skin to prickle and eyes to widen.

On an unspoken cue, Christine and I prance a foot back from each-other.

"Here we are! Oh, I hope we haven't _interrupted _anything." As Raoul steps through the opened gate, my fists clench.

A ragged group begins to circle, giving off waves of slight intimidation of the weary-legged bunch. The mist circles about their trembling limbs, and my pride mounts the saddle of tension, seeming to bear down on the formerly fleeting emotion.

"Ah! Monsieur! Here to claim your less-than-deserved "prize", I see?" I laugh bitterly, and descend the steps.

The boy sways, as if going to reel, yet balances himself. He staggers over, has to crane his neck just to get one look at my abhorrent face.

"I am here to receive what is mine, and what always has been."

"Is that true? Well, I'd love to see your attempt."

"I'd be delighted.." As he speaks, multiple from the group unravel from their flanks, and step behind. I recognize none but a few, most of which I have only glanced in the past.

There are too many.

Never before in my life have I made physical contact with so many people, aside from the regular beatings that were rapidly delivered at the gypsy's circus.

The amount is increasingly overwhelming.

As they drag me back out of the shallows to shore, I hear Christine shout my name. I am unable to verbally answer as she is pulled out of my sight.

_Christine..! _

_Erik! Would you do something? _

_I cannot. _

_Why? Surely you have been in this situation before-? _

_Oh, Christine.. _

_Erik! Please, listen to me-!_

Her worrying voice fades from my mind as am I interrupted. I cease our telepathic conversation.

"Monsieur, surely you recall our situation from before this. It seems the table has been reversed upon us, and it is you who shall soon be begging for mercy." The Vicomte rounds on me, eyes flashing his self-correct justice.

Rope bites into my hands, and weigh me down with yet another element from the fop's achievement. A young man with auburn hair stands beside me, face forward and grim face set. He glances down, only to be redirected yet again as an order is barked.

"Well, I'm not one for talk. Let's get to our established business, shall we?" Raoul pulls out a pistol, and it is aimed towards my skull. "I've one bullet left, and if any of you should make me miss, I'll kill you."

"C-come now, Vicomte! Must we behave this way? I say we settle down for a steaming c-cup of tea and talk things over-" The same man positioned next to me stutters. His fear is revealed with my own as his discouraged words come out.

"No, Sam. It is time for justice.." The fop replies.

I am almost blown over as shock rattles my senses. A flash of brown hair, a water-stained dress, and she's there. Knocking her fiancé down with the violence of ten men.

Christine.

Yet as he is thrown to the chilling floor, the weapon is fired, and the bullet leaves.

...

**(Meg's POV)**

"Sam!" The scream exits my body as he falls, the bullet already lodged into his chest.

I push past all who stand in my way, and with a renewed speed, trample over to him.

I whisper low in my throat. And as if trying to wake a sleeping child with a gentle caress, "Sam..?"

"Meg." He coughs, yet it is weak and uncontrolled; I wince

"Ssh, It's going to be fine..I swear it."

Sam gives a light laugh, "Even I know that is false. You should as well. Do not be a fool, Meg."

By now, I had expected him to be dead.

Yet he is not. "There is still hope..Please..."

Sam shakes his head softly and interrupts, placing his hand to my cheek, "I love you, Meg Giry."

I am about to reply, but he is already gone.

I rise, and swallow, thinking only this:

_And I love you.._

...

**(Christine's POV) **

Raoul flips me over, noticing the sap in my strength. His advantage plunges it even lower. "Ignorant woman! What were you thinking?" He forces me to my feet, shoving me away. He motions to the remaining members to grab hold and seize Erik.

"_Erik!_" I cry.

"**Christine..!**"

"Oh, do be quiet." Raoul hisses. He reaches for the gun, showing his visible rage as he slams it down.

"Raoul-" I whisper.

"Come, Christine." He grips my wrist, and begins to haul me away, my reluctance forcing him into a state of annoyance.

"Erik!"

"Hush, Christine, you mustn't worry about him any longer." Raoul assures bitterly.

"_What are you going to do with him?_" I demand.

"He's going to be taken away."

"_W..where?_"

Raoul stops, turns around and grins. "Where he belongs, of course."

**A/N- **

**Eugh! I HATE how this turned out. Tell me if you guys are disappointed by this, I'd really like to know! And trust me, things WILL be explained in the sequel- I won't have that up till later. I still need to do plot-thinking.**

**Anyways, thank you for reading, and I look forward to seeing you all in my next book, "Broken and Beyond"! :)**


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